Sang Froid
by Sinister Papaya Fondue
Summary: Hermione is a rare book dealer and Lucius Malfoy makes her an offer she can't refuse. But is there more to this trade than meets the eye? And where does Draco fit into the equation? LM/HG/DM
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This is a bit of fun written as a gift for the lovely Blood Faerie. It will be a multi-part ficlet, most likely. Just to warn you, it may be a little edgier than what I usually write. Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

* * *

She should have known. That was the only thing that kept going through her head. She should have known. But she could never say no to a book, could she? Of course not, even when that book would get her into trouble, as this one inevitably had. It wasn't the first time in her career as a rare book dealer that she'd made a poor decision.

It was just too good to pass up…even if the book belonged to one Lucius Malfoy. He was a git, but he'd been a quiet git since the end of the war. Five years and she hadn't heard a peep from any of the Malfoys. They kept to the fringes of polite society, made sure they gave money to the right people and organizations, and went on as if the entire ugliness of the war had never happened. Their standing had almost recovered fully. It disgusted her.

Damn the man for having one of the most extensive libraries in Britain. And damn him for offering to trade a second edition of Most Potente Potions for, of all things, an obscure volume on Veela lineage. It had crossed her mind before, what with the Malfoys' pale, deceptively angelic features, that there might be some Veela blood in their family. But they'd never mentioned anything outright, and that would have been a source of pride for them. They weren't the sort that kept quiet if they had something to brag about.

So what did Malfoy want with this book? 'Krasa a Pomsta: Dejiny Vila', it was called, which roughly translated to 'Beauty and Vengeance: History of Veela'. Beauty and vengeance, indeed – she doubted Malfoy could read Czech, so unless he knew some very advanced translation charms (which were notoriously pesky for those Russo-Slavic languages) he would get nothing out of it. Oh, but what did she care what he wanted with it? A second edition of Most Potente wasn't a first edition, but it was much more valuable that her current best, which was an eighth edition. She couldn't find a better deal if she tried. And some tiny, rational part of her brain had warned her of that.

Malfoy could have offered her something less for the Veela book. Most Potente seemed disturbingly like a trump card; she couldn't say no to it. She couldn't say no to a trip to Malfoy Manor under these circumstances. She'd hoped never to visit again, but that damn book…

So here she was, nervously seated in a small sitting room off the foyer. She had to admit that the house felt different. Anything would feel different, though, when the dark presence of Voldemort was banished from it. She thought they might have redecorated, and if they had she could scarcely blame them.

She'd thought about it a lot whenever she saw an article about them in the Prophet or Witch Weekly. The Dark Lord had all but castrated Lucius in the last year of the war. Taken his wand, his house, held the lives of his wife and son over him…it had been just the sort of bitter lesson the elder Malfoy needed to realize he was throwing his lot in with the wrong people. She had forgiven Draco a long time ago; he'd never wanted to do any of what he'd been forced into, even if he was comfortable spewing the poisonous rhetoric. And Narcissa, well, she had saved Harry's life. That was almost enough to forgive her for looking the other way when it came to her husband's crimes.

So Hermione was not as uncomfortable as she might have been sitting in the entranceway of Malfoy Manor. But she was still relatively wary of dealing with Lucius; the man was a snake and that would never change. Though some snakes were more agreeable than others…

He brushed into the room just then. He looked the same as she remembered – perfect, pale hair, aristocratic features, piercing blue eyes – but he bore a look of exhaustion and slight wear that set her mind wondering. He was also smoothing down the sleeve of his expensive robe without enough haste to fully conceal what was obviously some kind of wound.

"My apologies, Miss Granger, I was caught up with something."

She stood up, brain overburdened with questions about the bloody gauze on his arm and the less-than-pristine state of his person. "Is this a bad time?" she heard herself ask. "I can come back if this isn't convenient." Oh, Merlin, that was the _last_ thing she wanted to do.

He waved a hand distractedly. "No, no, you are here now and that is fine. Do you require anything? A beverage or perhaps the ladies' room?"

She shook her head, confused by his politeness. This was a level of cordiality that she'd never been deserving of before, not in his eyes. "No, thank you," she added, feeling compelled to be just as polite in return.

"Right. Please follow me, then."

He turned without another word and began to walk out of the room. Hermione had no choice but to follow, else she'd be left behind. Which, in the grand scheme of things, might be better than following Lucius Malfoy into the depths of his mansion, but she was what she was. She'd do damn near anything to have that book. He probably knew it. That was what worried her.

He was walking at a rapid pace, like he was on some sort of mission. She was always being left in the dust by tall people and Lucius Malfoy was no exception. Hermione scurried through the winding hallways and rooms as best she could. Was the man on a schedule? At last, when she had nearly lost him, she spoke up.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

He stopped and turned, his face inquisitive. "Yes?"

"Can you please slow down?" _I don't enjoy trailing behind people like some sort of indentured servant,_ she added mentally, wishing she had the courage to say it to him out loud. He'd probably have some snappy retort ready about servants knowing their place.

"Certainly," he responded coolly, and proceeded at a slower pace.

Now she was actually walking next to him, and that felt stranger than being five feet behind him. Now there was the possibility of conversation. Would she never cease to shoot herself in the foot?

"I would like to show you something before we close the book trade," he said suddenly. "It is just ahead."

"Mr. Malfoy - "

"I assure you, it will be to your interest, but if you'd rather not…"

Time to shoot herself in the other foot; she caved to her curiosity, buoyed by his politeness and seeming lack of murderous intent. "Lead the way."

He nodded once and led her a little further, careful to match her pace, she noticed. He only strode in front of her when they reached their destination. It was an ornate door, the wood elegantly carved and inlaid with the family seal. She hadn't seen the full seal before; it was actually quite nice. Too bad most of them could barely claim to have done their line proud.

"In here," he nodded, opening the door and stepping aside.

Would wonders never cease? She was walking into a dark room, _willingly_, with Lucius Malfoy at her back. He closed the door behind him and then flicked his wand. A half-dozen small chandeliers lit, casting soft light upon a long wall. And there, stretched out in an opulent sprawl, was the Malfoy family tree.

It was much like the Black tree she'd seen at Grimmauld Place, but larger and a bit more tasteful. Generally, she couldn't complain about the Malfoys' sense of style; they always looked good and there were no troll leg umbrella stands or severed house elf heads on display in their corridors.

Her eyes traversed the long and tangled branches. Near the end, to the far right, were Lucius and Narcissa. A braided vine ran from them to Draco; she noticed with some surprise that he wasn't married yet. Then again, neither was she, and she'd thought that by now she'd be blissfully bound to Ron. Life was not so certain, after all.

"I think perhaps you can better appreciate my neuroticism about the bloodline now," Lucius said from the other side, the origin of the tree. "When purity is maintained so long and with such pride, no one wants to be the one to break it."

"I didn't come here to talk blood politics with you," Hermione said flatly.

"Indeed. Nor did I bring you in here for that purpose, though no doubt it would make for stimulating conversation."

This time she did give voice to her thoughts. "Conversation? Let's be frank, Mr. Malfoy, it would probably end with us hexing one another."

He tilted his head to the side, a smile tugging at the left corner of his mouth. "You do not consider that stimulating? It would only result in a duel if you allowed yourself to become angry."

_Already_ he was making her angry with his smug serenity, but she was keenly aware that he was partially right. She couldn't control what other people thought. She could, however, control how she reacted to it. So, schooling herself into a slightly belligerent calm, she replied,

"No one likes to be told they are wrong, you included."

"That is true enough. Perhaps we'll save the debate for another time."

She gave him a critical glance. He was being civil to her, even giving her a backhanded compliment or two. Either he had seriously mellowed out, or he had an agenda that required tolerable behavior on his part. He raised an eyebrow at her scrutiny.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy, what _are_ we in here for, then?" she asked, diverting her eyes from him and back onto the family tree. "I have another appointment after this, so I can't linger." That was a lie, she had no other appointment; she'd kept the rest of the afternoon clear because she knew she'd be unable to resist scouring the copy of Most Potente immediately after acquiring it.

"No doubt you're curious as to why I am so interested in Veela literature," he stated, coming to stand next to her, which was a little disconcerting. He was very tall and a solidly built man; she'd never noticed before, not in the way she was noticing now. It was hard to miss how imposing he was. It _was, _however, possible to miss the sheer, magnetic masculinity that draped across his shoulders like a cloak. Hermione frowned and willed herself not to breathe through her nose. This close, she could smell him, and it wasn't a bad smell by any means. She refused to find him attractive.

"It had crossed my mind," she responded, poker-faced.

After a slight pause, he took four steps to the left. It put him around the region of his great great great great (was she counting correctly?) grandparents. He looked over his shoulder expectantly. With a sigh, Hermione moved toward him. It took her six steps to cover the distance he'd done in four. Satisfied that he had her attention, he raised his hand to the intricate tree.

"Here. Marie-Claudette Amourelle du Chegny. She was a full-blooded Veela, or so they say."

Hermione looked at the elfin woman that Lucius was indicating. She definitely looked like a Veela; her face was symmetrical and perfect, her skin like porcelain, with eyes that pierced even from the two-dimensional embroidery. And that hair, goodness, it cascaded in pale blonde waves, impossibly long and smooth.

"I suspected there might be Veela blood in your family," Hermione said noncommittally.

"Yes. Its power had mostly faded by the time my father was born, though. He never felt any mating imperative, nor did I or Draco, though we have retained the traditional looks…and some say the charisma," he smiled wryly.

Charisma, indeed. It fairly radiated from him. She was smiling back before she knew what she was doing. What the hell? So this was the infamous Malfoy charm…no wonder people caved to it so easily.

"Do you have a collection of Veela literature?" she asked, trying to steer the conversation into safer territory. Perhaps this trade was more understandable if he was an avid collector of these kinds of books.

"I have started to put one together, yes." He appeared thoughtful. "There truly is not much known about Veela."

Hermione nodded. Their beauty and magnetism was legendary, as was their propensity for wrath and their reputation as jealous lovers. Other than stereotypes, some Slavic myths existed about them and their mating imperatives, but the knowledge ended there. Fleur Delacour was the only Veela she knew, and she was only a quarter. Fleur was beautiful, definitely a bit haughty sometimes, and one of the only people in the world brave enough to compete with Molly Weasley, but otherwise she was a normal woman.

"Do you know the translation spells necessary to read the book?" she asked, suddenly interested in the book's content. She hadn't read it, one of the few in her possession to earn that distinction, mostly because of the utter pain in the ass it would be to translate.

"Yes, I looked them up and made sure I could do them before I contacted you. No point trading if I get nothing out of it." The smile had faded from his lips and the look in his eyes made her feel slightly uncomfortable. It was not threatening, but it was acknowledging; he was looking at her and actually _seeing_ her. In previous encounters his eyes had always grazed over her as if she was something inconsequential. Not so now.

She resisted the temptation to do the same to him. He had never been inconsequential to her, for obvious reasons, but he wasn't someone she wanted to be caught looking at. Sliding her eyes over his frame seemed like a betrayal. To whom, to what, she wasn't sure of anymore.

"You wish to read the book," he said.

"I am terribly predictable when it comes to books," she replied. Strangely, responses came easily and naturally around him. Perhaps it was because she didn't have to think about whether or not someone less intelligent than her could understand what she was going to say before she said it.

He peered down his long nose. "I have a hard time believing that you can't do the translation spells."

"I never learned them. This is only the second book I've dealt with that was in any sort of Eastern European tongue. Those bastards in Budapest always beat me to them…" she was thinking aloud, and cut herself off.

"I assume by 'those bastards' you refer to Zigmund and Kovacs?"

Her eyebrows rose. Lucius knew of her main competition, the Hungarian rare book dealers Markus Zigmund and Konrad Kovacs. She had to admit, it raised him a few notches in her view of his worth as a person.

"Yes. They make my career interesting, to say the least."

Lucius was looking at her curiously again. "Are they outselling you?"

"They've been established for thirty-five years. Of course they're outselling me."

His lips quirked upwards; he looked like a shark scenting blood. "Not for long." He turned and moved toward the door, walking slowly, his hands laced behind his back.

Hermione stared at his retreating figure. What the hell did that mean?

"Mr. Malfoy?"

"Come. I'll show you the translation spells. Then you can read the book. It's not long, so you will finish quickly…and then, we can complete the trade, if you desire."

* * *

Buggering fucking hell. He _seemed _to be oblivious to the impact he was having on her. In reality, she knew that Lucius Malfoy was rarely oblivious to anything. That had to be why he sat close to her, grazed his hand against hers – the man was flirting with her. Or worse, seducing her. Good lord, why?

And he could get away with it, too, under the guise of teaching her the translation spells. One had to be close for that. She might have been learning something if it was at all possible to pay attention. Honestly, it hadn't been _that_ long since she had male attention…was she so deprived that Lucius was turning her to goo?

She had to admit, watching him out of the corner of her eye, that he could probably turn 99 of women and a fair percentage of men into goo quite easily. Especially when he appeared studious, but perhaps that was her own fetish. She found it inexplicably hot to watch his eyes fairly devour the materials in front of him, his lips forming a slight pout, and his brows furrowed in concentration. Like this, one could almost forget he was an elitist wanker. Why had there never been any people like him in school? If ever there had been a male classmate who studied a book the way he did, Hermione's fate would have been sealed. She would have been shagging that boy in the dark recesses of the library. God, that sounded sexy.

"Do you think you have it?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts. She looked up at him. She was _in_ a library with plenty of dark recesses. Her mind wouldn't let go of it.

"Yes, thank you," she forced out, giving him a tight smile.

"I will leave you alone for a few hours, then," he murmured. He brought a hand up to massage his forehead. He suddenly looked tired, and she remembered the wound on his arm. She wanted to ask if he was ill or hurt, but contained the urge. It wasn't her business.

"You may stay for dinner if you like. If you need anything, call for my house elf Tesla," he continued. Then he pushed back from the table and stood. Nodding once, he turned and meandered out of the library.

Hermione let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. What the hell was going on here? She couldn't make heads or tails of it, except to conclude that perhaps Malfoy had changed. Or perhaps he was still trying to butter her up for something…

With him gone, though, her intellectual curiosity won out and her attention returned to the now-translated book about Veela. The style was a bit halting and antiquated, but it wasn't a difficult read.

* * *

Narcissa watched her husband sleep. Lately it seemed like he could never get enough rest, but she knew why. She knew why both her son and her husband were changing. She sighed and sat carefully next to him on the bed. She had never been able to resist playing with his hair and when he was this tired, it wouldn't wake him.

She thought as she toyed with the silken strands. It never ceased to amaze her how soft his hair was; she could never get hers to be as perfectly smooth. Then again, she was lucky her hair would lay flat at all, considering the gene pool she came from. Straightening charms were a godsend as far as she was concerned.

There was a myth that if you plucked even one hair from a Veela's head, it would kill them. She separated out a pale strand of Lucius's hair and contemplated the way it laid against her finger. There was a time when he would have considered death better than what he was getting himself into. And there was a time when she would rather have killed him than let him do this mad thing.

She was silly. Tugging out his hair wouldn't kill him. Nonetheless, she let the strand fall back in place with its compatriots and stood, smoothing her clothing before she strode over to the floo. Yes, her husband was changing…but so was she.

* * *

Draco turned restlessly in his bed. His mind was clear now, not like this morning. But still something buzzed on the edge of it, making him feel like a caged animal. And why shouldn't it? He was caged. He hadn't seen the sun, but for a few stray rays beneath his heavy curtains, for days. It wasn't that he couldn't go out; he could, but he had no purpose. The promise of nothing wasn't enough to propel him out of the Manor.

On top of the restlessness there was guilt. He had been stretching his family to the seams. His father chanced death or worse for him constantly. His mother was losing both of them and putting on an awfully brave face about it. He was tired of things going wrong. It had been good for a while, but then…

He closed his eyes and remembered.

* * *

_"Malfoy!__ Malfoy!"_

_He could hear his partner, Jerome Quinn, shouting for him. He couldn't shout back. He'd been hit, hard, and there was no air in his body. He couldn't see, either. It was dark because that was when most stealth missions took place. Unfortunately, no one had known that these sons of bitches had vampires on their payroll. If they had known, well…perhaps they would have gone in for the metaphorical kill during the day._

_Air trickled back into his lungs and he tried to gasp for breath as quietly as possible. He was not only separated from Jerome, but from the rest of the team. This was dangerous. He had to get the hell out of here._

_It might surprise people to know how often auror operations were utterly fucked. This was one of those times. This was one of those strikes where people died. And he would be one of them if he didn't get his arse back to the rendezvous point._

_At that exact moment, someone stepped into the room. Draco lay still, knowing his best hope was to play dead. However, it seemed that his visitor didn't even notice him; he had fallen next to a long chaise and was partially obscured. The dark would do the rest. Draco cracked an eye open and tuned his ears._

_"The aurors are falling back." _

_"Good." A low, rough voice emitted a chuckle. "I wager we gave them a good surprise."_

_"Yes," the second voice agreed, "and adrenaline makes blood taste so sweet…"_

_Draco__ gave himself a quick once-over. He wasn't bleeding anywhere that he could detect. It was a good thing, because if he was the vampire would smell him. His prime location would be given away and he was as good as dead._

_This was his chance. He could no longer hear his comrades. They had been driven back by the vampires. He was the last one with a shot at taking down the man who wanted to be the next Voldemort. Draco's lips twisted in a silent growl at the thought. There would be no more crazed despots, not on his watch._

_He very carefully extracted a slender peg from his robe. This had been one of Kingsley Shacklebolt's smarter ideas. It was an emergency portkey that automatically took whoever the peg was given to (or stabbed with, as was often the case) to a holding cell in Azkaban. The portkeys had identifiers and trackers on them, so they would know which auror had been responsible for the capture and where to find him or her._

_Now, if the stupid vampire lackey would move, Draco would have an unimpeded path to his victim. Early on, some aurors tried to shoot the pegs at their targets, but that gave them too much time to react. Many an auror had found himself in that holding cell in Azkaban back then. Now it was generally the practice to use the port pegs as a last resort, and to do everything possible to jab the thing into the person directly. The peg was the best way to go; even if he could get this sleaze alone, he wasn't sure he could win the duel against him. That was why it had taken so long to catch him; the man had already taken out four aurors and Draco wasn't ready to be number five. However, he wasn't willing to give up, either._

_A distraction was in order. Draco raised his wand. This always worked. He mouthed 'expecto patronum', willing the patronus to appear at the door, and a moment later the room was softly illuminated by a glowing shape. He could never keep himself from wincing when he saw it._

_Words couldn't describe his mortification when he'd first discovered the form of his patronus. He'd been hoping for something cool, a dragon, perhaps, like his namesake. But no. It was a goddamn ferret. When he'd admitted to his father what it was, the man had laughed until his sides hurt – and then proceeded to show Draco his own patronus. It was a peacock. Draco felt vindicated, and the two of them had spent the rest of the evening drinking too much scotch and musing over embarrassing moments. It was one of his fonder memories of his father; before that, he had never admitted to imperfection out loud._

_The patronus was having the desired effect. The two men snapped to attention._

_"The aurors are looking for survivors!" the vampire barked. "There must be someone still in here."_

_"Find them!" the leader ordered. With a slight flick of his wrist, Draco sent his stupid ferret gamboling down the hallway. The vampire fell for it in spectacular fashion and went after the moving ball of light. Draco was left in near-darkness with his prey. He licked his lips and smiled._

_It was an excruciating play of patience and risk, but he did it. He approached the man undetected. He was only a few feet away. Schooling his breath, Draco uncapped the port peg._

_Just before he struck, the vampire strode back in._

_"Master!" the dark being shouted._

_Knowing he was sighted and therefore screwed, Draco lunged. He had only a moment to be satisfied when the peg sunk into his enemy's shoulder and the man disappeared mid-howl. The vampire was coming. Draco didn't bother with his wand; they were mostly useless against the creatures of the night. Instead he went for the knife at his belt. His parents had given it to him several years ago. Its blade was made of silver, because in his early days as an auror their main problem had been with renegade werewolves. Those days seemed so far away now…_

_Fuck, the vampire was fast. He was on the floor, assaulted by searing pain in his neck, a meaty hand pressed viciously into his cheek. So that was what it felt like to have your jugular opened, or maybe it was his carotid…it could be deep enough to be his carotid…_

_Draco__ smelled his own blood, but he smiled. His blade had found its way into the vampire's left side, between the ribs. It was as good as a stake from the front. The vampire screamed, his face smeared with Draco's blood like macabre slashes of makeup. Then he fell, dead and cold, atop his victim._

_Draco__ closed his eyes. He could feel the blood rushing out of him in great, hot spurts. He was dead. He was dead. Hell and heroism, he was dead._

* * *

After that it had been a patchwork of hazy memories, faces, voices, the walls of St. Mungo's. His mother, always crying, seemingly held up by Aunt Andromeda. Shacklebolt, telling him nonsensical things about an Order of Merlin. His father, grave and silent, but unexpectedly tender, feeding him mush, holding cups of water to his lips, brushing his hair. Pansy Parkinson, his once upon a time fiancée and still his friend, with her little coffee-skinned daughter - Blaise's child. Blaise himself. Snape, of course dumping potions down him and arguing with his healers. Harry Potter, who saucily told him he had a hero complex before he, too, accosted the healers and made some demand or other.

There had been others, many of them. But only one mattered.

Astoria.

He was supposed to marry her. Two months from the night of the mission, exactly. Everything was all planned out. He actually loved her, too. He had given up Pansy because she loved Blaise and never regretted it, not after becoming closer to Astoria, but now it was like a knife to the gut.

The bitch had left him. Snuck into his room and put the ring he'd given her in the cup by his bed while he slept, so that he damn near swallowed it when he went to take a drink the next morning. And that was how he found out he was no longer engaged.

That was the first thing that propelled him out of bed. That was also the first real emotion he felt. And when he came back to himself, he was on the floor in a body bind with a very large orderly on top of him, and there was blood everywhere. Only, it wasn't his blood…

He would never forget the sight of his father on his knees, bowed over in pain. His face was bruised, a deep slash opened over the pale skin of his forearm, punctuated by matching perforations in his wrist. There were two badly shaken mediwitches behind him.

It came together in Draco's head quickly. In his blind rage, he'd attacked the two mediwitches, who were only there to help him. His father had intervened. But rage made him strong and immune to some of the disabling spells. And worst of all, he had bitten him. He had bitten his father.

* * *

_"Father?" he whispered._

_Lucius's__ eyes darted up from their appraisal of the wounds on his arm. "It's all right, Draco."_

_"No," he moaned. "I bit you. I'm one of them. I bit you…" And grief and shame and guilt tore at him, along with the knowledge that he was a monster. The only thing he could do was let misery envelope him._

_"Mr. Malfoy," one of the mediwitches whispered, "we should treat your wounds."_

_Lucius__ shook his head._

_"Mr. Malfoy - "_

_"No," he said firmly. Then he looked at the orderly that was sitting atop his son and said, "Get off him."_

_"Sir?"_

_"He is calm, now get off him." His father's voice was hard, flinty, the old, all-too-familiar tone that no one would argue with. The weight upon him eased as the orderly scrambled away._

_"We should…we should sedate him and send an order down to the blood bank…"_

_"No," his father repeated._

_"Mr. Malfoy, he's - "_

_"I know." He watched out of the corner of a blurry eye as his proud father made his way across the floor to sit next to him. "There is no point. I'm already bleeding."_

_The mediwitch stood and put her hands on her hips. "Mr. Malfoy, I must insist that you let us do our jobs!"_

_"Do them," he snapped, "and let me do mine." And then he proceeded to completely ignore the other people in the room. He leaned over to touch his son's pale hair. "Draco," he said softly, "Draco, is this what you need?" Blood had pooled in the palm of his hand like an offering, running in twin streaks from the wrist._

_The smell of blood hit him, and so did an insatiable craving. It made him sick. But oh sweet gods, he couldn't resist it. He needed it._

_"Take it," his father said. "Drink." And he sounded fearless, but when Draco's lips touched his hand he could feel the slight tremor there. Oh, but it all became inconsequential when the taste of his own sire's blood hit his tongue. _

* * *

And that was how it had been ever since. The healers weren't exactly sure _what_ he had become. He didn't require blood all the time, but when he did, he _needed _it. He could go out during the day; the sun didn't burn him, but he tired quickly and felt penned in around too many people. And the dreams…

Nothing was predictable anymore. Like this morning. When he had awakened, he felt fine. But by the time he got out of the shower, he had been trembling with the need for blood. He'd never felt so guilty as he did then; his father's morning was chock full of appointments, the majority of which he was forced to cancel. Watching him sit and leaf through his papers with one arm posed over an old-style bleeding bowl, the vein at his elbow open and flowing, was painful.

Draco hated being a burden. His father assured him he wasn't, that it was fine, he would rather cancel a bunch of dull meetings to assist his son any day. But he saw the exhaustion in the older man's face, the pale tint to his lips. They said that there were no leftover impacts from Draco's accidental bite in the hospital, yet he wondered. He wondered if there was something his father wasn't telling him.

Lucius had dismissed himself, saying that right now he had an appointment he couldn't miss. And that was the last he'd seen of his father for the a few hours; his mother had ducked in briefly, but otherwise the house was silent. Why, then, was he so restless? Why?

Draco sighed and picked up a book. And then he put it back down…because it reminded him of _her._

* * *

Hermione had finished the Veela book. It contained many interesting facts and anecdotes; she was glad she had read it before trading it off to Lucius. Actually, it had been very nice of him to let her. Most people wouldn't have the patience. Imagine that, a Malfoy setting a precedent of generosity with anything other than money…

She shook her head. Maybe he really had changed; mistakes could mellow a man. They said a leopard couldn't change his spots, but she supposed he could rearrange them. If there was a new Lucius Malfoy on the horizon that was just as well.

She had expected him to be back by now. At least fifteen minutes had gone by in which she had nothing to do. And having nothing to do in a library was very dangerous indeed. Unable to control herself, Hermione stood up from the small desk she was at and began to wander among the stacks.

* * *

A knock at his door made Draco's heart leap into his throat. He had been sitting there, tense and preoccupied, a victim of restlessness. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin. Maybe someone had at last come to engage him.

"Come in," he said.

The doorknob turned and his father poked his head in. He looked better; the color was back in his face and he was standing a little taller. Draco knew that giving his blood made him tired and sometimes weak. The slight displacement of his father's hair told him that he'd been napping.

"Feeling all right?" he asked.

Draco offered a feeble smile. "I should be asking you that."

"I'm well, Draco. Are you?"

"Yes. Just a little bored."

Lucius nodded, looking thoughtful. He stood there silently for a long moment. Then his lips curved into a smile.

"I may have the cure for your ennui. Come down to the library in twenty minutes."

"Father?" Draco asked, curiosity already eating at him.

"You'll see," was all he said before he disappeared, the door closing with a click in his wake.

* * *

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin when Lucius came up behind her. She started and in the process of bringing her arms up defensively, accidentally flung the book she was reading at him. He reacted instinctively and caught it just before it could slam spine-first into his jaw.

He looked at the book in his hand, and then at her. A raised eyebrow was his only commentary.

"I…um…nice catch," she said weakly.

"Well, I was a seeker for my house team," he shrugged, "until someone took a potshot at me with a bludger bat."

"That ended your career?" she asked, wondering if he'd deserved the so-called potshot. Regardless, both Harry and Ron had been hit with those stupid bats multiple times, and though they left some nasty bruises, neither had ever been seriously hurt.

"No, my mother did." A sardonic smile twisted his lips. "I was hit in the groin and she forbade me to play after that, for fear that I'd never be able to do my familial duty of reproducing."

Hermione blinked. "Are you serious?"

"Regretfully." He examined the book she'd reflexively thrown at him. It was a tome on controversial spells, most of which were controversial because they walked the line between light and dark magic. "Going to confiscate this?"

She flushed. Not only had she been caught snooping in his library, but she'd been caught reading something that was outside the boundaries of appropriateness. "No. I know I shouldn't have wandered, my apologies."

"None are required. A little curiosity about dark magic is perfectly normal, and you shouldn't feel ashamed of it." He stepped closer while he said it. Instinctively, Hermione flattened herself against the bookshelf. He kept moving towards her and her stomach did a somersault. In the end, though, he only reached over her to place the book back on the shelf.

She was keenly aware of how close he was when he did it. There were mere inches between his body and hers. He could have put the book anywhere, but he chose to put it right above her head. It wasn't where she had taken it from. He was back to his flirtation games.

_Why_ the hell was he flirting with her?! She found her voice and a little sense.

"That attitude gets people in trouble."

He looked down at her, still very close. "Are you so puritanical?"

For some reason, that offended her. "I…no! It's just that when people indulge another's interest in the dark arts, it gives them license to practice them. It's classic enabling behavior."

"Enabling behavior?"

"You know, when a person encourages or allows another person to do something unhealthy even though they know they shouldn't."

"Ah. Well, I apologize for enabling you." He smirked. "I shall try not to do it again."

Hermione could barely keep her eyes from bulging out of her head. He was…almost _playful_. What in the hell…? She had to get out of here.

"Erm, thanks. Now, if you don't mind, Mr. Malfoy, could we complete the trade? I do have another appointment to get to."

His eyes were still fixed on her face. The cool blue irises said that he'd poked holes all through her excuse of having another appointment; after all, she'd just sat there for two and a half hours reading in his library. That wasn't the itinerary of someone who had another place to be.

"Before we do, may I ask you a question?"

"…Yes." Hermione braced herself.

"Was there anything in the book about the interaction of vampires and veela? Or anything about the possibility of two veela having the same mate?"

Her mind slipped easily back into its analytical mode. "There was a small section about vampires and veela. I believe it stated that if a veela was bitten by a vampire, it would gain the vampire's need for blood meals, but with lesser frequency. Otherwise the veela would not be affected. It wouldn't gain any other vampiric traits."

"Interesting," he said. He was still too close for comfort; there was slightly more space between them, but she wouldn't be able to step around him without significantly brushing up against him. "And the other question?"

"I don't recall anything about two veela having the same mate." It was an intriguing question, she had to admit. "Maybe it just doesn't happen. I wish I knew how veela mates were selected…there must be some rhyme or reason to it…" she was lost in an intellectual fog for a few moments, and then snapped back to attention. "Why do you ask?"

In retrospect, she would seriously regret asking him that question. She was not at all prepared for him to tell the truth.

"Well, you see, Miss Granger…about eight months ago my son, who is an auror, managed to capture Ivan Seregetov."

She nodded. "It was in the papers. He got an Order of Merlin, if I'm not mistaken."

"Indeed he did." He tilted his head to the side. "What wasn't in the papers was that he was bitten by a vampire in the process."

Hermione gasped. "Oh!" It fell together in her head. Draco had veela blood, and he'd been bitten by a vampire – that was why Lucius asked about it. "Is he…?"

"Changed? No. Courtesy of your explanation, I now know that the veela blood spared him."

Another puzzle piece locked in. "But he needs blood meals. Your arm…"

Lucius nodded. His brow knitted slightly, but other than that his face remained neutral.

"Is he able to continue working?" she asked, suddenly concerned for a person she hadn't given much thought to in the last few years. Harry and Ron had grumbled about Draco's Order of Merlin, but they all knew he deserved it, and Hermione finally allowed herself to believe that Draco Malfoy had grown into a decent man.

"No," he shook his head, the ends of his blond hair sliding across his shoulders. Her eyes tracked the movement across the contrasting black of his shirt, seemingly of their own accord. "There was an…incident at the hospital after it happened."

"What kind of incident?"

"His fiancée rejected him. The little chit didn't even have the decency to speak to him face to face. She just left the engagement ring in the cup by his bedside. He nearly choked on it. Pleasant way to find out your wedding is off, yes?"

"Exceedingly," she spat, her eyes narrowing at the woman's cowardice.

"He was distraught. Anyone would be, in the position he was in." Lucius sighed, and for the first time his eyes dropped from her face. "He lashed out. I attempted to stop him and he bit me. It has not happened again, but the Ministry believes that he is too dangerous, too unstable to continue working as an auror. It's killing him."

"He…bit you? Does that mean _you--_" Hermione couldn't help focusing on that. Questions were exploding in her head.

"No. I have felt no need for blood." He lifted his eyes back to her face and a spark of mischief lit in them. "Aside from what was already present."

It was a joke, a self-deprecating, slightly too accurate joke. Hermione felt the corners of her lips pulling upwards. He looked pleased that he had drawn a smile out of her.

It faded a moment later as she remembered the second question he'd asked her. "Why did you ask me about two veela having the same mate?" The strange comfort his honesty had lulled her into was evaporating as her gut told her that something was missing.

"You had no answer for me," he murmured, closing the distance he'd allowed her. "Am I obligated to provide one to you?"

"No," she squeaked, once again flattening herself against the bookshelf. The urge to escape was returning, and powerfully.

"But I will," he breathed, leaning even closer, if that was possible. There was an inch between their chests, at most, and maybe three between their faces. Her skin tingled with his nearness, in that way it sometimes did when she anticipated another's touch. "For a price."

Anger flared in her. The git! The sexist, manipulative git! She hadn't managed to hit him with the book, but she wouldn't miss with her hand. She raised it to backhand him for his presumption.

She would have landed the blow and escaped if not for his seeker's reflexes. He caught her hand. And then, to her great shock, brought it to his lips. They softly probed her palm, warm and feather-light. Then they traveled down the length of her thumb and the side of her wrist. Hermione's breath caught in her throat.

It felt…_good._ His lips were like silk and they sent little tingles cascading up her arm. They gained momentum in her chest and then spread warmly through her body, like balmy waves. She was almost sad when his mouth left her forearm – almost.

"You are determined to hit me, aren't you," he purred. It wasn't a question.

"This…this isn't appropriate, Mr. Malfoy. You are married."

"Is that your only objection?" he asked.

Her mouth fell open. "What? That…that is a pretty important objection!" she sputtered. "And furthermore, do you expect me to believe that you harbor any kind of benevolent feelings for me? You've probably been given a bet by your elitist friends that you can't get in the mudblood's knickers. I'm not stupid, you know!" She tried to pull her wrist from his grip. "Let go of me!"

"I see the years have done little to blunt your high opinion of me," he muttered sardonically.

"You had a good strategy, Malfoy, buttering me up with this book trade and then making me feel all sympathetic by using your son's misfortune. Is there nothing too sacred for you to exploit?"

"Is there nothing too incredible to dent your cynicism?" he returned.

"Oh, and there's another trick, trying to turn the argument onto the other person. You're good, Malfoy, really good, but I wasn't born yesterday and I know how you operate. Now release me!"

"I can't," he said. "If I do, you will flee."

"You're exactly right," she confirmed coldly.

"You can't until you've heard me out."

She gave another tug at his hold. It didn't yield in the slightest. He was serious. Hermione pursed her lips and glared at him.

"Start talking, then. I don't have all day."

"Impatient witch," he said under his breath. "It is quite simple. I asked you about two veela sharing a mate because I believe I have found a case of this."

In spite of how her curiosity was sparked, she clamped down on it. "And?" she demanded.

"And it is Draco and me. We have both been having dreams and yearnings consistent with the veela mating imperative. As near as I can tell, the vampire bite somehow re-energized Draco's veela blood, activating the mating imperative, and his bite did the same for me."

All Hermione's anger drained away. This was too fantastic to believe!

"Who is she?" she blurted.

Lucius gave her a bemused look. "She is relatively short, with curly hair that is brown, and eyes the color of honey. She has freckles across her nose that you can't see unless you're up close…and a hell of a left hook, should she ever land it…"

And that was when Hermione put two and two together. Lucius was not just describing his mate…_their _mate. He was describing _her._


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Just a quick reminder that this is a gift and was originally supposed to be a two-part ficlet, so I'm getting right to the point here (not much of that usual tense plot development)! OF COURSE, my muse has decided to make it more...so there is more on the way after this.

KNICKER WARNING - Lemonade on the way. And I should say here, in case I haven't already, that this is a TRIAD FIC, meaning Hermione will be involved with both Lucius and Draco.

* * *

"You're not serious," Hermione whispered. "You're…you're having a joke at my expense. I get it. Ha ha." Her shock morphed into anger. "Get your hands off me, Lucius. You are a dirty old--"

Before she could finish, he leaned forward and smothered her words with his lips. She fought at first, raising her other hand to wallop him. It didn't do much good; he brought his arm up and it directed her fist into the muscle of his shoulder instead of his face. He might have a bruise, at most. And now he had penned her in, with his left arm blocking her escape and the right one clamped unyieldingly to her wrist.

She thought about stomping on his foot. However, her body was doing something strange. It was relaxing against him, reveling in his contact…it was as if some switch had flipped inside her brain, and suddenly she was turning her head, angling her lips against his, seeking the taste of him…

And he gave it. He delved into her mouth, his warm, dexterous tongue sliding languidly, expertly against hers. At the same time he was pressing his body flush to her, as if he needed to feel every part of her against him. A low sound emanated from him, echoing against her lips and teeth; the vibration triggered a hot flush inside her, seeping through blood and sinew like dye through vinegar.

After an exquisite minute, he slowly disengaged his lips from hers. Her mind lamented the loss and she stared up at him, completely befuddled.

"Dirty I may be," he murmured, "but I am not old."

And she was smiling again. Damn it. Every trace of anger was gone. She wanted nothing more than to take hold of his hair, tug him down, and kiss him for the next hour.

"You feel it," he said.

"What?"

"The pull. I can see it in your eyes. Do you still believe this is a joke?"

She met his eyes, blue and intense. Hermione did what she did best: she thought. She had been edgy the moment she walked in to his home, but she'd attributed it to the past and memories that were best left there. Standing before the family tree she had been able to smell him. His scent was musk and verbena, not overwhelming but inexplicably pleasing to her nose. She wasn't the most olfactory of people; she didn't have a particularly powerful sense of smell, nor did she tend to notice what things smelled like unless they were very strong, so noticing his scent was out of the ordinary. She had stayed here in spite of his overtures, which would normally have discomposed her beyond all reason. And her fantasizing, her grudging responsiveness when he touched her, not to mention the current tingling in her lips – both on her face and further south…

"Kiss me again."

He smiled, a brilliant thing. His fingers released her arm. Then his palms cupped her upturned face and he did as she asked.

* * *

Draco proceeded down to the library with some trepidation. He didn't like surprises. He never had. His father's surprises were usually good ones, but he was so on edge that the suspense was anything but joyful.

He had no idea what had gotten into him today. He wasn't usually this antsy. He felt confined in his own skull, his own skin, the house, his life…everything. His mother would say he was stir-crazy. That he needed to get out. Do something. He told her time and time again that there was nothing to do. Then she would usually tell him he needed to talk to someone about all this. He couldn't help but laugh at that; why was everyone always telling him he needed therapy? Ah, they were probably right.

He pushed open the door and stepped into the library. It was dim in spite of the sunlight outside; his father kept most of the curtains closed to prevent damage to the older books, as any conscientious person would. Now, where was his father? The library was huge. With a sigh Draco began to walk along the rows.

Two minutes passed before he found him. Or rather, them. His father was pressed up against some pretty young thing, kissing her with fervor. Draco stood still, perplexed. Was his father's idea of remedying boredom equivalent with voyeurism? He knew his genitor had a streak of dark perversity in him, but this?

It didn't register that he wasn't even angry that his father was essentially cheating on his mother. He was agitated, but not for that reason. He itched from the inside out. What in the name of Merlin's beard was wrong with him?

Draco was ready to turn and leave when his father pulled away from the woman. His eyes widened. Suddenly the agitation made sense.

* * *

Hermione's lips were so sensitive that she could feel her own breath tickling over them when he pulled away. Her mind had filled with fog, her nose with the smell of him, her mouth with the taste…this was no regular attraction. He wasn't lying. All she could think of was why he had stopped, and how she could get him to start again.

She looked up at him and saw that his eyes were fixed on something at the end of the aisle. With a turn of her neck she followed his gaze. It was Draco. He was taller than she remembered, lean and muscular, dressed immaculately but appearing a little pale and strained. The sight of him made a worm of fear wriggle in her gut, but it wriggled right alongside a blossom of excitement.

"It was you," Draco said. "The other man in the dreams was you."

She realized he was speaking to his father. Lucius nodded slowly.

"Then you're…"

He nodded again.

"And she's…" Draco was moving closer, gliding towards them as if hypnotized.

"Yes."

Lucius lifted his left hand as Draco approached, taking a half-step to the side and making room. Every part of Hermione's mind knew she ought to be on the roof with anxiety, thinking of a way to blast her way out of this, but she couldn't move. Lucius's nearness was like a magnet whose force she couldn't escape.

In seconds, there was a Malfoy on either side of her. Draco was gazing at her with blatant adoration. His face said that he wasn't entirely sure she was real. Hell, _she_ wasn't sure this was real. For all she knew it might be some debauched fantasy her sleeping mind dreamt up.

But the touch of his fingers as he lifted them to her cheek was definitely real. It sent jolts of awareness through her. To her left, Lucius smiled and leaned into her neck. His lips and his prominent nose teased and tickled along her nape. Her knees almost gave out when he whispered against her ear,

"Will you have us, Hermione?"

The sensations coursing through her were unbelievable. She wanted them. Both of them. Just like this, pressed up against the bookshelf. It was insane. There were a myriad of reasons that she should deny them. But her mind and her body were already lost. This felt right. She had no idea how or why, but the threads of need had ensnared her thoroughly in mere minutes.

"Yes," she whispered.

Draco exhaled and all the tension bled out of him. The strain was gone from his face. Lucius's tongue darted out to trace her ear, followed by a graze of his teeth.

"The main guest room?" Draco asked.

"Yes," Lucius said, "neutral territory."

They were wrapping their arms around her, a crosshatch of pale limbs, to apparate. She spoke up impulsively.

"No. Here."

Both men pulled back slightly to stare at her. Lucius's lips rose in his trademark smug smile. Draco said, "As if you need any more reason to like the library." But he was smiling, too.

Then, as if by some silent cue, they both attacked her neck. Lucius high, near her ear, and Draco low, by her collarbone. She rapidly discovered that the son's lips were just as talented as the father's. Her breath was quickening, her heart beginning to throb. What in the name of Circe was she doing? Her nipples had already tightened to mountainous little peaks beneath her clothes.

Draco was turning her head. His lips slotted over hers. He kissed her harder than Lucius had, his mouth demanding her response. There was so much pent-up need in him. There was no use in comparing their techniques, because they were both great in their own way; however, it did surprise her that Draco was the rougher of the two. He was fairly conquering her mouth, his hand winding into the mess of curls at the base of her skull as his tongue mapped her. Lucius was sucking on the space between her neck and shoulder as he did it.

They were going to kill her. The sensations were already so strong; what would happen when they…when she…

A small mewl escaped her when a hand strayed over her breast. She didn't know whose it was, but it felt damn good. The hand cupped her breast through her robe and squeezed gently before finding the nipple and pinching.

She gasped, her back arching slightly, and Draco tugged at her lower lip with his teeth. Whoever wasn't occupied with fondling her breast was undoing her robe. It slid from her shoulders, pooling behind her feet. Oh! And now they were both touching her, each stroking a breast in an opposing rhythm. One was more impatient than the other, making due haste with her button-down and sneaking a hand into it with only three buttons undone.

It time she would come to know the differences between their hands, the size, texture, and strength, but for now it was a sweet mystery who was delving beneath her bra and rubbing deliciously over her nipple. Now the shirt was falling away, too, joining her robe on the floor.

Lucius's hand applied a gentle pressure to her chin, turning her, allowing her to deduce that it was Draco who so adroitly tweaked her nipple. Lucius claimed her lips again, soft, sensual, in contrast to Draco, who was trailing open-mouthed, toothy kisses down her collarbone and chest. He took her bra strap with him, baring one breast to the cool air of the library.

"Beautiful," he murmured before he occupied his mouth with the rosy circumference of her areola. She whimpered into Lucius's mouth and he purred in return. It was incredible to kiss someone so deeply at the same time another was applying a gentle and skilled suction to her chest.

Lucius was easing away from her lips with light brushes. His fingers were on the small of her back, slowly trailing up. Then he was unhooking her bra with the deftness that any man of his age would have. It didn't stand a chance against him and she looked on, entranced, as he extracted it from between her and Draco.

He dropped the offensive garment and slid his hand over her unoccupied breast. His hand was so large and sure around the supple flesh. Her breath caught in anticipation as his blond crown lowered to mimic his son's actions. Merlin, that was something else, having both nipples teased at the same time, but not by the same person. It was going straight to her core; Hermione felt a surge of hot moisture and she let out her first low moan.

There were teeth tugging at one nipple and a tongue laving against the other taut bud. What was probably Draco's hand was moving across her stomach. The muscles beneath it tightened in anticipation. Their smells combined in her nose, verbena and a subtle herb-tinged vanilla, and she gave in to the urge to sift her fingers through their hair. Both men made sounds of appreciation.

Draco was kissing his way over the curve of her breast, her ribs, her stomach, over her umbilicus and down her abdomen. Goosebumps broke out over her skin as his tongue trailed along the border of her skirt. Thank God she had done her laundry. Otherwise, she would have been wearing granny panties.

Not that they would have cared, these two men (two!), who were pushing her skirt down her thighs. Her thong was not far behind. Draco's mouth was already forging a path down the bowl of her pelvis before he'd even managed to disentangle the garment from her foot. Lucius's hand was of similar mind, reaching low to cup her trimmed womanhood. Draco's lips actually ghosted over his father's knuckles en route to the sweet prize between her thighs.

Already the two men were a unit. Hermione gasped as Lucius's fingers dipped into her wetness and trailed upwards, parting her nether lips. The encroachment of Draco's hot, wriggling tongue over her clitoris made stars blink behind her eyes. She swayed, but Lucius was there to right her. His mouth took hers as Draco settled on his knees.

Her mind couldn't even process the irony. She couldn't process much at all, save for the incredible sensation of Draco's work between her legs. He was a beautiful sight; his neck was craned up, his mouth and tongue buried in her slick folds, his eyes, fringed by long, pale lashes, closed in blissful concentration. His hair was a little longer than she remembered and a bit tousled. She reached for it, twining her fingers in its softness as she tilted her neck to give Lucius better access.

No sooner had she done it than his lips left her heated skin. He nudged her to the side, turning her slightly and slotting his body behind her. It didn't deter Draco's activity in the slightest; Hermione moaned as his teeth grazed over her clit. Then his lips closed over it and he sucked. It sent a lightning bolt of pleasure through her. She had to squeeze her eyes shut and an exclamation bubbled out of her.

"Oh God!"

Then there was skin against her back, hot and smooth. Lucius had shed his shirt. His hands snaked around her from behind, cupping her breasts and tweaking the nipples. The sculpted feel of his torso was a welcome replacement for the cold spines of the books and the bite of the shelf. She leaned her head back against his chest as his hands roamed.

His breath was quick and warm against her ear. "Do you think you can stand if I move?" he whispered, punctuating the statement with a press of his hips. She could feel his trouser clad erection against her lower back.

Draco took a brief respite to murmur, "I've got her." And he settled his hands firmly on her hips before burying his face back against the soft fuzz of her sex. She couldn't formulate a coherent answer, anyhow, not when Draco was sliding his tongue along her entrance and then slipping in. His name spilled from her lips for the first time.

"Ah…yes…Draco…"

She felt the pulsation of him groaning against her as he slid his tongue shallowly, mapping the cusp of her passage. She was going to die. Lucius was kissing down her spine, also sinking to his knees. His hands slid over her buttocks, grasping them firmly. Was he going to…assist Draco? There was only so much room down there and –

A tingling in her backside made her eyes fly open.

"What--?"

Lucius's voice came to her, slightly muffled by, of all things, the fleshy cheeks of her rear. "You said I was dirty. Now I have to live up to your expectations…"

She nearly hit the ceiling when his tongue traced a circle around the tight and previously off-limits ring of muscle that was, well, her anus if she wanted to be proper and her arsehole if she didn't. Sweet hell! That felt unconscionably good! His tongue was laving in earnest now, in steady little strokes that said he had probably done this before.

Merlin on rollerskates, Lucius fucking Malfoy was rimming her. Not to mention that Draco Malfoy was simultaneously eating her out! They quickly found a rhythm of tongues and she was moaning outside of her own control, her legs weak. Lucius moved slightly, so that his shoulder was supporting the back of her thigh. Only that and one of Draco's hands were holding her up.

The insertion of two fingers inside her was her absolute undoing. She didn't know whose they were, or if they had both contributed one, but the forward curl against her muscular walls in combination with two very talented tongues made her come undone.

Pleasure peaked so suddenly that she forgot to breathe. Her entire body spasmed and that loosened up her diaphragm; she screamed. She screamed so loud and hard that she wondered it if sounded like she was being murdered.

She was – by pleasure. The ecstatic clenching inside her was sheer violence. Wave after wave of incandescent pleasure shot relentlessly through her, robbing her control. It was like being electrocuted in heaven.

* * *

When she came to her senses, she was on the floor. Her body had simply failed in the firestorm of her completion; she had fallen and taken both men with her. Draco was beneath her on his back, his eyes dazed and half his face glistening with the juices of her arousal. Lucius was behind her, gingerly trying to spare the both of them his weight, but her hand was clamped around his wrist and it was only an awkward feat of strength that kept him from collapsing.

Hermione couldn't speak. Never before had an orgasm made her cross-eyed – or mute, for that matter. Testing her ability to function, she willed her fingers to release Lucius. It worked and he settled into a more comfortable position.

"I think we've rendered her speechless," Draco said.

His father settled next to her, and without the pressure of his body, she rolled bonelessly onto her back between them.

"I like speechless," Lucius murmured, draping a leg over her hip and leaning forward to kiss her. That jarred her brain.

"You just licked my arse."

"And the spell is broken," Draco smirked.

Lucius rolled his eyes. "I used a cleansing spell already."

She looked at Draco for confirmation, and he nodded. Reassured, she allowed Lucius to press a relatively chaste kiss to her lips. Draco squirmed closer to her as she did, propping her into a strange sort of diagonal position. It dawned on her then that she was laying between two virile men with raging erections. She could feel Lucius's against her hip and Draco's on her bum. Draco's hand was stroking a lazy circle on the hip not currently mashed against his father's groin.

This was unreal. What was most unreal was how comfortable the two of them were with one another; she would have expected them to be insanely jealous and possessive and not willing to share. Perhaps the Veela blood brought out the best in them. It certainly brought out the best in her, if that orgasm was any indication.

"I will never be able to browse 870 to 883 in public again," Draco announced.

"Indeed," Lucius agreed.

Hermione was smiling again. "Your library is big enough for the decimal system?"

"Yes." Lucius met his son's eyes over her shoulder. "You were right, Draco, strange things do excite her…"

Finally she landed her left hook, quite smartly on his arm.

"Careful," Draco said. "He might like that."

Hermione's eyes widened. A worm of fear stole into her. What if Draco was right? She hadn't considered their proclivities. She just wasn't the whips and chains type of girl…

"I was kidding," Draco said against her shoulder, planting a soft kiss there. "You aren't into that," he said to his sire, eyeing him, "are you?"

"This is entirely too much conversation," Lucius growled. "Bedroom, now."

There was a lurch and suddenly she was staring up at a canopy. The bed was impossibly soft, covered in silk sheets.

"Clothes off." Somehow, the elder Malfoy was reduced to sentence fragments. In seconds both of them were naked, their heavy, throbbing erections scoring the skin of her thighs and buttocks. She tried to see both of them at once but they were distracting her with kisses. She caught a glimpse of Draco. The rumors that he was well-endowed were one hundred percent true. A long, substantial erection jutted from his hips, its cap reddened and weeping.

She discovered Lucius by touch. He twitched at the contact, drawing in a harsh breath. The cock in her hand was broad, with a pulsing vein on the underside and a proud, sensitive crown. She knew because when she trailed her thumb over it, he tried to stifle a groan. Impulsively she reached for Draco with her other hand.

Oh, it was so sinful. It was easier to tell them apart this way than by their hands. Lucius was definitely thicker; Draco had a very slight upward curve to him and the pale hair at the base of his shaft was a bit coarser. Regardless, both of them were built for pleasure. Lucius's hips rose into her caress and Draco was breathing hard, his lower lip clamped between his teeth. She felt powerful with the hot silken steel of twin erections branding her palms.

She wanted to taste them, as they had for her, but there was only one of her and it was impossible to choose. Draco solved her problem a moment later. He gently removed her hand, bringing it to his mouth to lick at the little bead of pre-cum that had escaped onto the skin between her thumb and forefinger.

"I need you," he said, his grey eyes piercing her. _We need you._

She nodded, and a look of relief so potent swept over his face that it triggered a tight feeling of tenderness in her chest. He moved between her thighs reverently, stroking the soft, pale skin. With the sweep of his hands, a need began to burn in her, one that was incoherent and feral. She squirmed closer to him, trying to wrap her legs about his waist. What was he waiting for? And why was Lucius pulling away from her? She whimpered her discontent.

It was remedied a moment later, when Lucius propped her on some pillows. He was about to move again when she reached out and took hold of his most sensitive part, stopping him quite effectively. Feeling impulsive and nearly drunk, Hermione rolled slightly, turning her torso but not her hips, and replaced her hand with her mouth.

* * *

"Fuck!"

Draco smiled; he had never heard his father say that, ever. But he was saying it now, and who could blame him, with such a pretty girl's lips around his cock? Even though Hermione's movement had compromised his angle a bit, he wasn't irritated. His father hadn't initiated it and it was a good sign that she wanted to do any of this willingly, even wantonly.

He had been warned by many people and many books that just because a Veela identified his mate didn't mean that the mate would be accepting. Hermione could have turned them both down flat and they would have no choice but to wither and eventually die. Well, that was not strictly true; if he knew his father, he would have devised some way to make her theirs, legally or otherwise. Lucius Malfoy was not a man to be kept from something he wanted. And really, neither was Draco.

For a long time he had wondered who the third was in the dreams. He knew it was a man, but he was always obscured. Yet there had been an air of familiarity that made sense now. For reasons he couldn't explain, it didn't bother him that it was his father. It had to be the Veela blood, else they would kill one another in jealousy.

And, he reasoned, it was the Veela blood that enabled him to find it incredibly hot to watch Hermione suck him. That, and the fact that men were so visual. She was good at it, too; his father's eyes were closed and he was breathing raggedly through his mouth. Her pink lips slid along his thick shaft rhythmically, her cheeks hollowing in as she moved. His own cock was twitching and wishing it was receiving the same treatment. He wished he was the one with his hands buried in her hair encouraging her to take more of him.

Oh, and she must have been doing something his father liked, because a strangled moan emitted from him, along with a short string of words and curses he couldn't quite make out. Hermione paused, releasing his pulsing cock but not entirely finished with her exploration. Draco actually felt a little faint as she lowered herself to lovingly tongue the sac at the base of his shaft. Merlin, this shouldn't be as arousing as it was.

But, on the plus side, the change in position had flattened Hermione out to him. Her thighs were open, inviting, and even as she was driving his father insane, she was casting foggy lust-filled eyes at him. She hadn't forgotten what he needed.

He let the sight of her creamy, parted thighs, joined by the slick, pink petals of her womanhood wash over him one more time. Then he moved forward, settling into the crux of those pretty thighs and pushing slowly inside her.

* * *

Her mind was filled with smoke. Hazy, aphrodisiac smoke. And, quite agreeably, her mouth was full of a man that she'd never thought she would see, much less touch or taste. She was aware as she ravaged Lucius that Draco was watching. Yes, he was watching very intently. It wasn't a jealous observation, but a lustful, erotic one. That made her whimper around her mouthful and suck harder; Lucius shuddered and said some very interesting things:

"Fuck…sweet Merlin, girl…like that, yes!"

Mm, and there was still more of him to sample, those tantalizing bundles a little further down…and later she could do the same for Draco…discover his taste…she looked at him, trying to tell him that with her eyes.

A moment later she had to release the prize between her lips to moan. Draco was slowly pushing into her, letting her feel every inch. A powerful sensation jolted her, one of completion, of wholeness. The world no longer felt like it was slightly out of synch. Everything was right. And then he was buried inside her, his face slack with pleasure.

She squirmed, needing his friction. He needed no further prompting to move. Draco withdrew and slid back in again, sighing in what could only be described as pure bliss. Lucius's voice washed over her as he teased her nipples, his rough palms raising them to hard beacons of arousal once again.

"Is our pretty mate tight?" he purred.

"God, yes," Draco managed to respond, his hips thrusting forward. "And so wet…"

Lucius's lips crushed over hers. Good lord, the both of them could kiss like demons. She moaned into his mouth as Draco's thrusts picked up to a steady, yet moderate pace. Her breasts were jiggling slightly in Lucius's large, warm hands. Fuck, it felt so good! Draco was perfect inside her, stirring every nerve ending with the slip and slide of each advance.

Finally Lucius let her breathe and she looked up at him. Now he was the one watching, his exacting, devouring eyes drinking in the sight of his son fucking her. These two were going to be the end of her, with their heated eyes and oh-so-healthy libidos.

Draco was gripping her hips, beginning to breathe hard as he thrust deeply into her. A tight, dizzy pleasure was starting to build in the walls that gripped him. With a decisive movement, he pulled her closer and lifted her thighs; it opened her up, and a shot of pleasure that Hermione felt from toes to teeth ricocheted as the curve of his cock rubbed her in precisely the right spot.

"Right there!" she gasped with a serpentine writhe.

"Does he feel good inside you?" Lucius whispered in her ear, his voice dripping sex.

"Yes!" Hermione nearly shouted.

"Tell him. Tell him how much you love his cock."

She had never been a fan of dirty talk – until now. She would tell either of them anything they wanted as long as Lucius kept using _that_ tone of voice, and as long as his fingers kept rubbing tantalizingly close to her clit. Draco was certainly making a case for himself; he was picking up his pace, moving faster, the head of his cock hitting that sweet spot again and again. Oh yes, she did love his…

"Harder, Draco! Please! Your cock feels so good!" And normally she would have felt ridiculous saying such things, but the words made him groan and it was the truth. Oh, God, was it the truth!

He was thrusting hard now, penetrating her to the hilt, his balls creating a pleasant percussion against her perineum. Lucius's fingers had begun to tease her in time, light, quick circles around her clit. The pleasure building inside her made her feel wild, and being with the two of them gave her license to _be_ wild. So she whined and bucked and keened, free, wanton, daring the ecstasy to descend on her.

"Draco, fuck me! Fuck me!" She didn't even know what she was saying anymore, or what was contained in Draco's answering groans. She dug her nails into his arms in protest when he began to slow. "Don't stop!"

"Too much," he panted, "I don't want to come so fast."

"Please," she whimpered.

"It will be worth it, pet, you'll both come twice as hard," Lucius said, easing off her clit. "And we have waited eight months for you…"

* * *

They tortured her. Plain and simple. They would bring her _so_ _close_ to orgasm and then back off. Where the fuck did Draco get all this stamina? Where did Lucius find the self-control to watch with only the occasional grope of her hand and quest of her mouth to sustain him?

She was a mess. A sweaty, quivering mess. Draco was sweating, too, a fine sheen of perspiration clinging to his skin as his hips pistoned and his buttocks flexed. He was so beautiful; the lean muscles that clenched, so defined, and the flush that crept over his skin drove her mad.

His pace was picking up again – for the fourth time. And as much as she would like to pull on his perfect hair, Lucius had been right; her pleasure had doubled, even tripled, to a brain-rattling tide that only grew stronger.

"Please!" She didn't care that she was begging. Her hips rose to meet his, sending incredible vibrations through her. The friction of his shaft rubbing inside her, over and over, harder and harder, and the impact of his thrusts, was absolutely maddening. She was losing her mind. If they didn't let her come, she was going to end up in the loony bin.

"Please! Draco! Lucius! Pleaseeeeee!"

"Touch her, father!" Draco bit off, around a moan. "I can't…hold back…"

_About fucking time, _she wanted to scream. But all thoughts were decimated when Lucius's fingers returned to her clit. He moved them ruthlessly, sliding through her juices, teasing the swollen, straining bud with a fast, oscillating pressure. It took twenty seconds for her to reach a thunderous crescendo.

She gasped and writhed and screamed, her insides clamping down on Draco so tightly that he could barely move. Pleasure assaulted every sense she had and then some; she felt her heart skip a beat.

"Yes," Lucius hissed in her ear, "squeeze him…good girl…"

And then Draco was shuddering against her, crying out hoarsely,

"Hermione! Oh, God, Hermione!"

She felt the warmth of his seed inside her, felt the continuing spasms of her passage wringing more out of him, and saw scattered visions of his face, wracked with pleasure. After that, it was only darkness.

* * *

It was like the aftermath of the first orgasm they'd given her, except more prolonged. It wasn't a few seconds. It was more like a few minutes. When she was able to return to the present with all her mental faculties intact, she was once more lying between Lucius and Draco. Draco was on his back, his arm thrown over his eyes, breathing hard.

"Welcome back," Lucius smirked at her.

"You two," she panted, "are evil."

"So I've heard," he responded. She glanced at him; his arms rested behind his head and his ankles were crossed. He was the very picture of leisure. However, the prominent erection that stood at attention over his hips and lower belly was impossible to ignore. He, too, needed his completion. She was ready to give it, but…

"You can't tease me again. I'll go crazy."

"Oh yes she will…" Draco murmured, sounding dazed. By the look of it, he still hadn't regained all of his mental faculties.

"Come," Lucius beckoned with a gesture, "you get on top. That way you can return the favor."

"Tease you?" she asked as she turned onto her side, eyeing his arousal. "I imagine that must be about as smart as throwing rocks at a beehive."

Draco snorted. Lucius actually chuckled, a genuine smile breaching his lips.

"For most that would be true. For you…" his voice dropped to that intensely sexy tone again, the one that had driven her mad as he whispered in her ear, "I will gladly suffer."

"How do you do that?" Draco mumbled. "I would just sound like an idiot if I talked to a woman like that."

"Years of practice," Hermione answered for him.

"Are you insinuating that I'm old again?" Lucius said, eyes narrowing.

"Of course not."

"Ah. I thought perhaps I might be compelled to be dirty again, in retaliation."

A warm flush spread through her at his words. Her eyes were drawn once again to the proud column of male flesh that waited for her attention. He noticed her perusal.

"I have been very patient, witch."

Indeed he had. Hermione smiled and moved toward him on her hands and knees before climbing over his midsection. It was a strange vision, looking down at him; strange, but wonderful. His hair fanned across the pillow, silky and lustrous, and his eyes drank in her curves. His hands followed the course of his gaze a moment later, smoothing down her sides and hips before he cupped her buttocks. She was already teasing him, but true to his word he suffered it.

She didn't have it in her to prolong it. Hermione shifted, getting her feet under her on either side of his hips, and rose. He sighed when her hand wrapped around his cock and guided him between her slick folds. Then she was sinking down upon him, gasping a little at how different he felt.

"Oh…" he exhaled, his eyes slipping shut, "how I've waited for this…"

Hermione put her hands on his chest. "Good things come to those who wait…" she purred.

"You two talk too much," Draco grumbled.

Neither of them bothered to respond, because Hermione began to move. Slowly at first, so that she could adjust to Lucius's girth. No man had ever filled her so thoroughly. After a minute the slight discomfort eased and the ebb of tingling pleasure began as she sank down upon his straining cock.

His hands rested on her bottom as she found her pace, rocking her hips against him. For a man who had talked so much during the prolonged foreplay, he was considerably quieter as she began her ride. He just breathed, steadily but more quickly with each passing minute.

She focused on the delicious chafe inside her and on the subtle tics of pleasure that paraded across his face. Low moans were escaping him now. His hips moved beneath her, pressing him deeper within her pussy and causing her to issue an answering sound of pleasure. That seemed to fracture his composure.

"Lean back," he ordered at a near-growl. "Put your hands on my thighs."

She did as he asked, repositioning herself breathlessly. She was splayed open to him like this, her legs spread wide to support her as she rode him and her breasts high and pert. His eyes were all over her, hot enough almost to burn. She knew he was watching the place where their bodies met, where his cock rubbed in and out of her sex inch by sweet inch. She wished she had his vantage point; the thought of it made her so aroused that on her next descent, a moist and somewhat embarrassing sound was produced. Hermione was ready to be mortified, but Lucius only hissed, "God, witch, you are so wet!" and gripped her hips tightly.

The passion in his face spurred her on. She rode him faster, ignoring the slow burn in her legs in favor of the incredible sensation between them. Her head dropped to the side in concentrated pleasure. When she opened her eyes, Draco's cool grey irises met hers. He was reclining on some pillows, watching their coupling without a trace of bashfulness. And, much to her chagrin, his manhood was beginning to stir again. The corners of his lips twitched at her expression.

She returned her gaze to Lucius. His hips were finding a rhythm with hers, thrusting up as she came down, and on the next forceful clash of their bodies, she saw stars. She began to clasp around him outside of her own control. Lucius was cursing again.

"Oh, fuck. Fuck yes! Mm…touch yourself for me. That's it," he moaned, watching as she reached for the little pleasure button between her thighs. His hands supported her, pulling her down on his cock even as she began to tighten around him. Now he'd gotten his legs under him and was using their power to thrust. She grabbed his knee with her free hand, dizzy with the pleasure and because the world would not stay still under his assault. It was jarring her entire body, causing her breasts to bounce, and a quick glance at Draco proved that he was very much enjoying the view.

She wasn't going to last, not when he was fucking her like this. And not when she pressed her fingers against her clit just the way she liked it, the way she did it when she was by herself and seeking her own pleasure. Something told her that she wouldn't be doing that much anymore.

Oh, sweet Merlin, she wouldn't have it any other way! She cried out as her third orgasm began, with a low, recurring spasm. Lucius groaned splendidly, his back arching and his neck tilting back. The waves of pleasure built and built and built until it exploded outwards like a firework. She shivered on top of him, her muscles trembling as high-pitched moans poured from her lips.

With one last thrust that brushed her cervix, his body went rigid. He took in a great breath that was then expelled in a loud, tortured moan. There were no words at orgasm, only gasps and shudders and the twitch of his organ inside her as he emptied, coaxed by her tight, sucking sheath. A remarkable contentment spread through her. Watching him come was exquisite, and…again, there was that feeling of completeness, of rightness…

Slowly he relaxed, sliding his legs back down and lowering her so that her knees could rest astride his hips again. He looked just as dazed as Draco had.

"Dear God, witch." His hands, when they took hold of her wrists to pull her down for a kiss, had a slight tremor in them. And his lips and tongue said more than his words ever could, tangling passionately with hers for a few moments as they both wound down from their peak.

When at last she had the energy to climb off him, she settled between her two men once again, utterly exhausted. As she drifted towards sleep she vaguely heard Draco say,

"Good show, old man."

And Lucius responded, "It's a good thing I'm delirious, or I'd hex you."

* * *

Narcissa smiled as she leaned against Severus. They were in the room with the family tree, where Hermione had begun her interesting day. She, too, had had and interesting day; in a matter of hours, she had gone from being Narcissa Malfoy back to Narcissa Black, and then, shortly thereafter, Narcissa Snape.

Lucius had told her right away when he realized that his choice of lovers was no longer his own. He was regretful. He told her that she deserved someone that had eyes only for her, and that was something he couldn't promise anymore. Not that he had ever exactly fit that definition; he loved her and he was attracted to her, but it wasn't the soul-searing passion and love of a Veela. That was something else entirely.

For a while she hadn't known what to do. It was so sudden and she couldn't imagine life without Lucius. Their love was not perfect, but it was theirs. It was bittersweet to see it end.

She was sure that he had something to do with Severus's cautious approach. They had grown close during the war, when he was the only way to keep an eye on Draco. They had corresponded several times a week. Severus had been a rock for her during that time when fear threatened to overwhelm her.

He had kissed her once. Just once, when she had been nearly inconsolable after Draco was forced to take the Dark Mark. His lips had put up a dam against the overflow of emotions. She'd pulled away from him, dazed, very confused, and filled with guilt. He had apologized profusely, saying that he didn't mean to disrespect her or her marriage, that Lucius was his friend and he was not the sort of person who did this to his friends, and that it wouldn't happen again. And it hadn't.

Then Lucius was back, irrefutably changed by Azkaban. The man who came out was not the one who had gone in. His priorities had been polarized and now all he could do was commence the slow wriggle out of his own trap. She had never doubted him, but during that harrowing time she had missed the surety and stability that Severus had provided.

Perhaps Severus had finally confessed his slip to Lucius. Hearing that, maybe Lucius had orchestrated their joining. He did like to tie up loose ends…but whatever happened, love had blossomed between her and Severus. It was slow and sweet at first, but lately it had risen to a fever pitch, driving Severus to impulsively propose.

Now she was at last his, and he hers, and all her previous anxieties were put to rest. This was right. The deep baritone of Severus's voice filled the room as they watched the family tree struggling to rearrange itself.

"It doesn't know what to do," he chuckled.

"It certainly doesn't," she agreed, smiling. It didn't have too much trouble disentangling her from Lucius; Severus was being woven as they looked on. She supposed the same was happening in Grimmauld Place. Divorces weren't common in either line, she knew, but the family trees were quite adaptable.

The real problem was Lucius and Draco. The tree didn't know how to bind both of them to Hermione; her pretty face was being woven, too, with a radiant smile on it. That didn't surprise Narcissa much. The girl would be doing a lot of smiling with two brilliant men attending to her. Lucky chit.

At last the tree settled for a triangle. A branch ran from both Lucius and Draco to Hermione, who was on the top. Most interestingly, a branch also connected the two men at the bottom, forming a true equilateral triangle.

"You know," Severus said, "they say that a triangle is the strongest shape that exists in nature."

Narcissa smiled. "I hope so, for their sake." And then she leaned back to kiss her new husband, the triangle forgotten in the wake of his soft, questing lips.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Damn it, this was just supposed to be a ficlet, but of course it's taking on a life of its own. Ah well, my overactive muse plays right into your hands, doesn't she?

* * *

"You're going to make me late."

Hermione smiled against his back, ignoring his protest as she unwound the towel from his hips and reached for what it hid. He was already half-erect, just from her proximity. She loved having that kind of power over a Malfoy.

She kissed the space between his shoulders and inhaled his smell. God, as long as she lived she had never met anyone who smelled as good as either of them. She smiled and stroked the substantial length of his cock. He hardened to steel in seconds and let out a quiet groan.

"Hermione, it really wouldn't look good if I was late for my own reinstatement hearing."

"You won't be late. You still have an hour."

"And I still have to decide what I'm wearing, and eat breakfast, and then try not to vomit my breakfast up in sheer nervousness…"

She smiled to herself. Draco was neurotic on the finest of days, but today it was especially apparent. She had no doubt that he would stand in front of his closet for half an hour debating minutiae of what to wear – if she let him. "You've got nothing to be nervous about. They're going to reinstate you."

"I wish," he gasped slightly as she tightened her grip, "I shared your confidence."

She walked around him and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him sweetly. His cock twitched against her belly. It was good that he wasn't so nervous that his body couldn't respond to her. There was hope for him yet.

"I'm going to take your mind off things," she whispered against his lips. And then she began a slow descent down his body, peppering kisses over his chest and his toned stomach. If she had her way he'd be thinking of her on her knees before his hearing, not the possibility that they might deny his request to be reinstated to his auror duties – again.

It was bollocks. Draco wasn't a danger to anyone, except the criminals he was trying to catch, and that was the point, wasn't it? The Ministry ought to be grateful that he even _wanted_ to continue on their payroll after the way his injury had been handled. He'd single-handedly captured the most dangerous wizard out there, been very badly injured in the process, and then been summarily shunned because of the nature of his injury. They thought an Order of Merlin made it all better; it didn't. He needed support, encouragement, and counseling, and he'd been offered nothing but a flimsy pension comparable with the muggle military's honorable discharge. It had led her to her current project: haranguing Kingsley about auror benefits and services. He agreed with her on most everything as a former auror. The only trouble was the crusty old Wizengamot; they were about as agreeable to change as a vegan to animal products.

Ah, but she had more important things to attend to right now. Looking up at Draco, who was watching through anxious but lustful eyes, she sucked the head of his cock between her lips. As she ran the tip of her tongue over the slit at the top, he said,

"I think it's working…"

Yes, it was. He was throbbing between her lips, hard and silky. The taste of him was clean and slightly saline. His masculine smell never failed to prompt a surge of moisture between her thighs. Oh yes, oral sex had never been so pleasing to her as it was with either of her Slytherin lovers – or both at the same time.

She sucked more of him into her mouth with a moan. They evoked some kind of wantonness in her that she couldn't explain. At first it had been a little frightening. Now…well, now she just enjoyed it for what it was. And it was a license, a permit to be absolutely free, to demand satisfaction, to give it, to indulge sexual spontaneity without any guilt or feeling of constraint. Quite frankly, it was a blessing.

Draco's hands wound into her hair, urging her on. She reached up to grip his lovely, muscular butt and took as much of his pulsing shaft into her mouth as she could. With two of them demanding attention, she had learned very quickly how to control the reflex that wanted to reject the presence of a cock in her throat.

"Ah! Hermione…yessss…" he hissed, his hips jerking slightly. She wrapped her hand around the base of his shaft, where her lips couldn't reach, and began a slow, firm stroke there as she rose and fell. He, in particular, liked to know that she was enjoying what she was doing. That turned him on even more. So she sucked him with enthusiasm, letting him hear the smack of her lips and her low sounds of pleasure.

* * *

He fucking loved his crafty little mate. She knew that he'd be half out of his mind with anxiety over this, so she had endeavored to make him half out of his mind with something else. And holy hell, was she doing a good job of it.

It was enough just to see four inches of his cock disappearing between her plump, pink lips. The added bonus of feeling the head rub the back of her throat was just icing on the cake. It would never _not_ be incendiary to him to watch her suck his cock, leaving that sheen of greedy saliva on his shaft...

And he knew she liked doing it. There were women who didn't, but would do it anyway, and he had always known when that was the case. A woman who really enjoyed performing oral sex was like a lightning bolt to his libido. Hermione loved it, probably because it gave her a feeling of power, and she would be woman enough for the rest of his life.

He moaned as she sucked harder, her warm, tight mouth creating a maddening seal around him. Shots of pleasure tightened in his balls. Oh yes, all nerves sufficiently forgotten, save the real ones telling him just how good Hermione was at this…

He began to thrust shallowly into her mouth, reveling in the slide of her lips and the nimbleness of her tongue as it teased the underside of his shaft. She had caught him off guard and was giving him no quarter, administering to him in exactly the way that he found most pleasurable and at a relentless pace. He was going to come, quick and hard – and soon.

Stars began to blink behind his eyes. Tiny detonations of pleasure were sparking with each hard suck and slide of her lips. He thought about coming in her mouth, about her accepting his carnal offering and swallowing it down like ambrosia. That was all he could take.

He exploded with a short cry. The world tilted and trembled as bursts of ecstasy wracked him. His fantasy became reality as he watched her with vision that was blurry on the edges. Hermione moaned softly and weathered each spurt of his release, at last sliding back a bit to lick the last drops from the head of his cock.

Draco had to lean against the doorframe as his head buzzed. Merlin's beard, when she made him come, she made him _come_. She had certainly chased his anxiety away – by making it completely impossible for him to hold a thought in his head.

* * *

Hermione let his receding member slip from between her lips. His salty-sweet taste lingered in her mouth. Taking in his dazed expression, she was fairly sure that she had accomplished what she set out to do. At least for a little while, his fears would be laid to rest.

She straightened up and stretched. Draco was still broadsided by the aftereffects of his orgasm and merely blinked at her. Smiling, she leaned forward and brushed her lips over his. Then she strode over to his closet, rummaged a bit, and picked out an outfit for him. It was a muggle suit, designer and very expensive, and he looked so good in it that she was considering buying a similar one for Lucius. Though, Lucius did cut quite the figure in his more old-fashioned styles.

She hung it on the hook to his left and kissed him again.

"Wear that," she said, "and you'll have every lady and gay man on the Wizengamot voting yes without even opening your mouth."

"I love you," Draco responded. He said it suddenly, blurting it with none of his usual composure and pretense. Hermione smiled at him, thinking it was just the endorphins talking. After all, what man wouldn't feel like he was in love after a good blowjob?

"I love you, too," she said lightly, turning to get him a pair of socks. It wasn't the first time those words had been said, at least between her and Draco. Lucius was a bit more reticent. Draco told her not to worry about it; apparently the man had only told _him_ he loved him a few times in his entire life, and he was his son. He just wasn't the sort to throw his affection around lightly. It didn't bother her. As with the first time, she could always feel and see and taste his emotions better than he could express them out loud.

"No, Hermione," Draco said, his body pressing up against her back. "I…love…you." Each word was said with care and intent. They were genuine, complete, beguiling…

She twisted in his arms to look up at him. His grey eyes smiled at her.

"I…I know," she whispered with a heartfelt grin and a blush.

He hugged her from behind. "I think I'll be able to keep my breakfast down now, though I wish I had time to eat _you_…"

"Later," she said. "After you get your job back."

"I will be waiting for you later, whether I get it back or not." A slight smirk lifted his lips and his fingers pinched her backside smartly. Then he separated from her, plucked the suit off the hook, and went to get dressed.

* * *

Of course, Lucius was still asleep. Hermione shook her head. From looking at him on a regular day, one would assume that he took forever to get ready. She had seen first hand that it just wasn't the case. He could be ready in thirty minutes, and five to ten of those minutes were usually occupied by the slow, groggy move from bed to shower. After that he blew through his morning routine, never failing to look immaculate before he stepped out the door.

There were thirty-seven minutes until Draco's hearing. Correction; Lucius wasn't entirely asleep, but in the early stages of the arduous task of waking up. He was by no means a morning person and could be singularly unpleasant if one did not heed his signals. It was one of many distressingly normal things she had discovered about him.

He'd made it through step one and two of his wake up: turn over and cast off the blankets. After that came two more minutes of semi-consciousness, followed by opening his eyes, then sitting up, then gathering the motivation to actually move, and at last shuffling to the loo.

She could safely talk to him once he'd opened his eyes, which he ought to do…in about thirty seconds. So she sat on the edge of the bed, watching him, counting in her head. It was twenty-eight seconds. Then his eyelids rose and revealed his beautiful blues.

"The hearing," she said softly.

He nodded and gave her thigh a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

* * *

She was in the massive bathroom doing her makeup when he emerged from the shower. She didn't know how he could wash up completely in only eight minutes, especially with hair the same length as hers, but somehow he did it. He was a bundle of wonders, it seemed.

The transformation from the mute, bleary man that slogged out of bed to the one who stepped briskly out of the shower never ceased to amaze her. If she had known back in the day that the easiest way to neutralize Lucius Malfoy was to deny him a shower in the morning, an awful lot of drama might have been prevented. That said, he must have been nearly catatonic in Azkaban, because Sirius (rest his soul) had mentioned that bathing was a rare and precious event within the prison.

But she didn't like to think about the past. Nor did she like to think about the Lucius she'd seen in the Department of Mysteries, or Lucius in Azkaban, or the suffering, however deserved, he'd undergone in the last year of the war. She couldn't see any of that man in him anymore, but a small part of her brain stubbornly refused to forget about it.

She had confessed as much to him a few weeks ago. He had laughed and told her she needed to be more Slytherin; it was wise to remember the past behavior of others no matter how changed they seemed, so one could recognize the signs if history chose to repeat itself. Forgiving was acceptable in his mind. Forgetting was not. And as long as she forgave him, he was happy. And, he'd added, history would never repeat itself with him. He had then kissed her senseless, leading to a long and torrid romp on his desk.

"I have a good feeling about this hearing," he said as he was brushing his hair.

"I wasn't nervous earlier, but now I am," she replied, pausing in the application of her mascara. "They've said no twice already. It will just crush him if they turn him down again."

"They won't." He sounded very sure.

"You know they say that bad things come in threes."

"They also say that the third time's a charm." He nodded to himself, completely confident, and his certainty buoyed her.

She finished her mascara, his words echoing in her mind. Then she set the makeup down and turned to him. He'd just finished the drying charm on his hair, and it lay soft and perfect on his shoulders.

This time it was Hermione who spoke impulsively.

"I love you."

It was the first time she'd said it to him outside of wild, impassioned lovemaking. In those times it was easily overlooked, or attributable to an orgasm-addled brain. His lips twitched. Then they opened. But they stuck there, unable to form the words.

He frowned and she knew that it was at himself. With a resolute shake of his head, he leaned over and proceeded to give her a brain-melting, knicker-soaking kiss that ruined the lipstick she had applied so meticulously minutes before.

While she blinked and swayed in the aftermath of his kiss (she swore that he was like some kind of reverse-dementor, breathing soul into her rather than sucking it out), he smirked and spelled the lipstick off both their faces. Then he picked up the tube and repainted the lips he had just kissed into a fine plump swell. His hand was steady, gentle, and when he set the lipstick back down she looked in the mirror to find that he had done it perfectly. Of course – he did almost everything perfectly.

"Never doubt my feelings for you, Hermione," he said. He kissed her forehead reverently. "And believe me when I tell you that Draco will be happy no matter what the outcome of this hearing is, because he has you. Because _we _have you."

* * *

Hermione stepped out of the floo with her arm tucked securely in Lucius's. Up until now, he had shied away from appearing together publicly. They still had no idea how to explain their triad relationship to the ruthlessly curious public. Someone would get crucified; Hermione was worried it would be Lucius, and Lucius was worried it would be Hermione. He said that people could call him whatever names they wanted, but he would not stand for anyone labeling her a slut. It was little things like that that made her heart melt for him, as flawed as he was.

People had seen her out and about with Draco. Speculation was running rampant that they were a couple, but they chose neither to confirm nor deny. To see her with Lucius would only fuel confusion and the wildly imaginative rumor mill. Lucius was right about one thing; people wouldn't understand what they had. But here he was, firmly linked to her by the arm amidst the gauntlet of nosy people that had invited themselves to the proceeding. She supposed it was a good sign that the most exciting thing on the Ministry's agenda lately was a job fitness hearing.

The whispers were beginning. Hermione looked up at Lucius. His face was calm, neutral, set in his usual proud mask of inapproachability. Inside, she was sure he was clamping down on all the Slytherin instincts that told him this was a bad idea. He was more or less offering himself up for the metaphorical cross.

An inexplicable lump formed in her throat. He couldn't tell her that he loved her, but he could go against every caution in his brain and instigate every expression of horror that was sure to come when it was revealed that she was with him. With them. He was going to bear the media's slings and arrows for her. Coming from a man for whom reputation and appearance were everything, that was stronger than any 'I love you'.

Hermione smiled and wound her arm around his waist. He gave her a look so subtle that only she would catch it, one that said 'are you trying to make a bad thing worse?', but grudgingly raised his own arm to drape over her shoulders. She tried to ignore the flashbulbs that had begun to pop.

That was how they walked into the hearing, three minutes early. Draco was sitting in the middle of the floor with his solicitor. He twisted in his chair, seemingly sensing their presence, and when he saw them arm in arm, he smiled. Hermione smiled back and so did Lucius – but he couldn't quite keep it from becoming a grimace as they took their seats and every eye in the room settled on them.

* * *

Draco won. Hermione liked to say it was the power of 'The Suit', as it had been dubbed. Lucius liked to say that it was thanks to him, who had gamely distracted everyone in the room by continuously exchanging small, borderline indecent affections with Hermione. That had taken her by surprise; in the hallway he had barely wanted to put an arm around her shoulders, and then in the middle of the hearing he was running a hand along her thigh? Then he had winked at her and she understood; slowly, subversively she reciprocated. Nobody in the hearing could concentrate worth a damn. The reporters were goggling at her and Lucius, missing everything that Draco, his solicitor, and the witnesses said. Of his three hearings, the last was the shortest, and the votes in favor were nearly twice as many as those opposed. She suspected that some of the Wizengamot members didn't even recall what they were voting on by the time she and Lucius had escalated to her nearly sitting on his lap and whispered sweet nothings that actually consisted of unflattering comments about various witches and wizards in the room.

They still found themselves chuckling over it. Draco said they were both nutters and that he'd won because they'd realized that all the other aurors were imbeciles, except his partner and Harry, of course. Hermione had laughed at that; it was a little bit of Lucius's grandiosity that had rubbed off on his son.

"What is it today?" Draco asked around a piece of toast.

"Amortentia," Lucius replied. "I brewed Amortentia and used it on Hermione, and you're just enjoying some special benefits of my evil scheme."

Draco snorted, shaking his head.

"That's better than you being members of a polygamist secret society," Hermione chimed in, wandering into the dining room. "Or using Imperius on me."

"They can say whatever they want," Lucius shrugged, "I would just prefer to stop receiving death threats." He glared at his son. "Why don't you get any?"

"Because I'm the nice, upstanding one," Draco replied with a toothy grin.

The elder Malfoy made a sour face. "I have been very nice and upstanding since the end of the war. Perhaps the gossip papers would be more likely to remember that if I put some pressure on the media corporations that fund them…"

She smiled. Only Lucius would insist that he was nice and upstanding while simultaneously discussing mild blackmail. Hermione was not at all surprised that he had connections to the very papers that vilified him. Lucius could network like no one else; he was like a vine, able to push through, twine around, and climb walls, always flourishing, always forging connections whether those on the other side wanted it or not. She still didn't know the true depth of his business ties and investments and probably never would.

"Maybe we should just tell them the truth," she said. Both men looked up at her. "Well, they already know half the story. They know Draco was bitten and that he bit you, Lucius. All they _don't_ know is that you have Veela blood which chose the same mate for you." She frowned. "I never understood why you didn't make your Veela heritage known in the first place."

Lucius set his fork down. He looked slightly uncomfortable. "Hermione, some pureblood circles look down upon those with Veela ancestors or relatives."

"Why?" she asked, perplexed.

"Because they can be considered a type of magical creature. They are witches and wizards, yes, but not technically of pure blood. Many overlook this because of their superior looks and abilities, but…some believe it is no different than marrying a werewolf or a centaur."

"That's ridiculous!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Yes. Fortunately those who believe such things are few and far between." Lucius inspected his hands. "The Blacks, actually, were of that mind. If it had been known that there was Veela blood in my line, Narcissa never would have been allowed to marry me. Draco would have been considered less than nothing, a blight upon their family."

"Toujours pur," Hermione muttered, shaking her head. The Blacks had evidently been the worst of the pureblood fanatics. Poor Sirius and poor Andromeda. And, to a degree, poor Narcissa.

"Toujours mort," Lucius answered.

There was a brief silence, in which the only sound was Draco chewing on his toast. Then he spoke up with a frown.

"There's something else, father. Something you told me yourself."

If Lucius had looked uncomfortable before, he looked even more so now. "Yes. I…the mating imperative can force a pureblood to choose a mate of any blood status. Some people do not think it is worth the risk and look down on relations with Veela because of that."

Hermione had tensed visibly. They tended to avoid talk of blood and its politics. This was the first time it had come up in the two months they had been spent in each other's company. But it was now or never; the topic had to be broached.

"You don't…you don't regret that I'm your mate, do you?" she asked in a small voice. "Because I'm muggleborn?"

"No," Draco said immediately. "Never."

Her eyes flickered to Lucius.

"Truthfully, I am grateful every day that my blood chose you," he said. He smiled the wry half-grin that signaled that he was being completely honest. "I think any other woman would have bored me to tears."

* * *

Hermione went to work happy, glad that her men did not feel forced into something they didn't want. It had hovered on the edge of her mind for some time, a small shadow of doubt, but now it had been chased away by Draco's flat out denial and Lucius's more circuitous negation. It wasn't uncommon for them to react that way; Draco was more straightforward, rarely wasting energy on verbal circles, but Lucius just couldn't turn it off. She had come to know how to read between the lines with him.

She looked around her shop, shaking her head in pleased wonder. Lucius had slowly insinuated himself into the running of her business, and she had to admit that things were better than ever before. He had bought her a new building, much larger and less run-down, and helped her decorate it in a way that would please both the highbrows and the earthier bookworms that made up her clientele.

At first his money-throwing had annoyed her; it felt as though he was somehow criticizing what she had, or discounting the fact that she could manage just fine on her own. That had been their first real fight. Poor Draco had had quite a week, stuck in the middle between their equally strong personalities. When she finally understood that all Lucius wanted was to make her happier and more successful (of course he couldn't just say that directly, stubborn fool), it had led to their first make-up sex. And my oh my, was that a night to remember. Especially after they had dragged Draco into bed, determined to remedy the week's duress…

She paused in her work tagging books as a warm flush moved through her. She was probably blushing as she thought about it. Anyone watching her would assume she was in love. They assumed correctly.

A tap at the window startled her out of her steamy memories. There was an owl. With a serene little smile on her face, Hermione glided over to the window to take the mail. It was a note from Lucius.

_I've been thinking. Do you suppose your friend Luna Lovegood wouldn't be entirely put off if I contacted her? I would rather give the story to The Quibbler than to the vultures that are currently assassinating my character. I'll trust your judgment on this. If you believe it would be inadvisable, I will find another outlet – but I am most certainly through with the Prophet and Witch Weekly._

That was so like him, to admit she was right without saying it, to make it seem like it had been his idea to tell the truth to the media. Hermione smiled. He was such a bizarre man. The kind of man she never thought she'd be attracted to. Yet here she was; he could incinerate her control with little more than a look and once she got a taste of his reluctant sincerity it was like a drug. She wanted more of him, more of it; she wanted to continue chipping away at his layers to expose the mundane and the esoteric, for he was made of equal portions of both.

She scribbled out a quick reply to him and then went to call Luna.

* * *

Draco walked in the front door, depositing his broom where the house elves would put it away. Next were his gloves, then his shoes, then his robe, left in a trail in the entryway. It occurred to him that Hermione had never witnessed his homecoming routine and would probably yell at him for expecting the elves to pick up after him. He shrugged to himself; he would leave things as they were until she actually noticed and did said yelling.

"Hello, darling," his mother's voice drifted out of the parlor. "How was work today?"

He detoured into the parlor. She was there, as she had been for many days now, surrounded by piles of real estate magazines and colored markers. She and Severus were house hunting. Draco smiled at the sight of her. She was slightly flustered.

Like him, his mother hated having too many choices; he had probably gotten that personality trait from her. More than either of them, though, he was certain that Severus absolutely detested the abundance of choice that these magazines brought upon them. The only reason that they had to look for a house at all was because his had been destroyed at the end of the war, when people still believed he was the worst of the worst. He would have been happy with something simple and nondescript. Narcissa was, like any woman, looking for her dream home and it drove Severus absolutely insane. In the meantime, they were staying at the Manor. It made the five of them a quirky, twisted little family.

If not for the housing magazines, it might have been easy to forget all that had happened. It might have been easy to think that it was a day from one year ago, before the bite, before the mating imperative, before everything. Such was the normalcy of the moment.

"It was fine," he answered, stretching. "They're giving me bullshit assignments, but at least I'm back to work."

"What do you mean?"

"Diagon Alley patrol duty today," he rolled his eyes. "Petty thieves beware, Draco Malfoy is on the prowl."

"I'm sure everyone was on their best behavior," she smiled. "But in all fairness, dear, things have been relatively peaceful lately. I'm sure you're not the only one stuck doing uninspiring patrols. It's fine with me."

He recognized the tone in her voice – the one that said 'don't you dare get hurt again.' Draco leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. He was actually kind of glad that she hadn't left the Manor just yet. It was going to be strange to have to go somewhere else to see her.

"Yes, I guess it's better than chaos," he agreed. "Where is father?"

"His study, I think," Narcissa said, picking up yet another magazine and pointing to a house in the top right corner. "What do you think of this one?"

"Oh, no," Draco said, shaking his head, "I'm not getting sucked into this again." She had already trapped him into talking about houses three other times. He didn't care one bit about wainscoting or crown molding or the relative merits of a deck versus a gazebo, but had suffered quietly. Not today, if he could help it.

"Ungrateful brat," his mother grinned. "If you see Severus on your way, tell him to come in here."

Draco nodded and turned away, only just containing the amused smirk on his face. In spite of the closeness their living arrangement had afforded, it was unlikely that Snape would listen to him. Frankly, he didn't blame the man. If he saw Severus, he would tell him to run the other way.

"Love you, mum," he said over his shoulder as he escaped her domestic clutches. His feet couldn't carry him toward his father's study fast enough. Narcissa was scary when it came to things like that; he had already endured two years of her redecorations after the war. That had led to some doozies between his mother and father, shouting matches the likes of which he had never witnessed (that floor is two hundred year old Black Forest wood, Narcissa, and flawless besides, why does it need to be replaced, don't spend money for the sake of spending money, and oh, you should talk, Lucius you're a fine example to go by), but in the end they had found a suitable compromise and the Manor had never looked better. Draco rather thought that the whole redecorating thing had been a mask for their own issues in the aftermath of the war; as much as they were rebuilding the house, so were they rebuilding their relationship. If not for the Veela reawakening, he had a feeling his parents would have sailed on smoothly for the rest of their lives. They still would; there was just the small matter that they were now both bound to someone else.

He knocked on the study door and then walked in. His father was as completely distracted as his mother was, but with different things. He was reading intently with a focused frown on his face, a quill being worried to shreds between his fingers.

"Father?"

Lucius blinked and in an instant, the worried expression melted off his face. "It's late enough for you to be home already?"

"Yes. What are you doing?"

"Reading the Ministry's marriage laws."

"Thrilling," Draco replied. "Why, is there some problem with Mum's marriage?"

Lucius gave him a mildly disapproving look. "No. I'm trying to see if we can legally both marry Hermione."

"Oh. We're marrying her?"

"Well, yes, assuming she answers in the affirmative."

Draco blinked. The rapidity of his father's decisions sometimes stunned him. "And when are we asking the question?"

"I don't know. I was going to coordinate schedules with you. And of course, we have to go ring shopping…"

Draco burst out laughing. Everything was a business relation with his father, absolutely everything.

"What?" Lucius demanded irritably.

"Nothing," Draco snickered. "What do the laws say?"

His father's frown returned. "They are not encouraging. The Ministry has a strict anti-polygamy law that prevents anyone from having more than one spouse. I've been searching for loopholes, but any that could have been exploited were already used by groups before us, and as a result the Ministry patched those holes." Lucius sighed. "We're screwed."

"So, you want us to marry Hermione, but we can't actually do it? Is that what you're saying?"

"Do you _not_ want to marry her?"

"Of course I want to marry her."

"Then yes, that's what I'm saying."

Draco breathed out a sigh. "We can't just live in sin?"

Lucius slouched. "I…would be amenable to that, if not for the children. I do not want them to be born out of wedlock. Call me old-fashioned--"

"Children? What? WHAT?!" Draco's mind caught up with itself and he was nearly shouting. "She's pregnant?"

"No. Not yet," Lucius answered succinctly.

Draco relaxed, rubbing his hands over his face. "Don't scare me like that."

"Like what? Veela mate for life, Draco. If you are going to have children, which you are, Hermione will be their mother."

He exhaled and looked up at his father. Lucius's face was set, calm, his eyes clear and defiant. He was truly reconciled with this. Draco knew his father was an all or nothing kind of man. So if he was going to authorize the diversification of his bloodline, he was going to go all the way. There would be half-blood children and everyone would like it, damn it. That was what his eyes said.

"What about you?" Draco asked, curiosity getting the better of him. "Are you planning on children, also, while you map out our lives?" He couldn't help the sarcastic barb.

"I don't know. Any further children I have will be welcome, but superfluous."

"This conversation is bizarre."

Lucius nodded. "Decidedly."

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

"So what do we do, then?" Draco asked.

"For once, I have no bloody idea."

* * *

A week had come and gone. Luna had been agreeable to being the first news outlet to break the story of the Malfoy's Veela lineage and their triad with Hermione. In fact, she had gone so far as to dedicate the entire issue of the Quibbler to triad relationships. The Truth about Triads, it was called; it had hit newsstands yesterday.

Luna was Lucius's new favorite person. It amused Hermione to no end. In truth, though, Luna's thoroughness had given them a lot of information they didn't have before. Lucius had met other triads that had been in sustained three-way relationships for years, been given a lot of good advice on any topic he could think of, and unbeknownst to Hermione, the problem of marriage had been solved.

She was in the book shop leafing through the Quibbler. Of the six triads that had been covered in the magazine, she, Draco, and Lucius were the only ones that were so because of Veela blood. They were also the only group that contained a father and a son. There was one other that had two brothers, but she and her Malfoys were an oddity even as oddities went.

Luna was so funny. She had researched three-way relationships and in her journalistic way, reported that fully 8 percent of the wizarding population was or had previously been involved in an intimate triad relationship. These relationships had an astounding success rate, as well – nearly 97% stayed together for one year, 77% for five years, and 65% for ten years or more. There was a quiz included in the magazine, designed to elucidate whether or not you had the personality traits to support a triad relationship. There was also a feature called 'Room for one more?' that elaborated in very great detail all the ways three people of any gender could enjoy themselves sexually. Hermione blushed as she realized that she had not yet partaken in some of these with her men. There was no doubt in her mind that they would get to it, especially with Lucius at the helm of their sexual expression.

At least, she thought Lucius was in charge – and so did Lucius. However, that was about to change.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Well, at long last I've managed to get this chapter out, in all of its fabulous kinky glory! I have to issue a healthy slew of warnings: there be blood play, mild dub con, Malfoycest, light BDSM, anal, leather fetish, and toys ahead. All I ask is that if any of those squick you (in particular the Malfoycest), either don't read or try to restrain yourself from leaving me a nasty review. I know it's not everybody's bag. But if it is - a Level 5 Knicker Warning is definitely in effect.

* * *

Lucius knocked on his son's door and walked in without waiting for a response. He thought, as he did it, that he had hated when his father did that to him, and resolved to perhaps hesitate a little longer in the future. Especially since Draco was a grown man now. Old habits did indeed die hard.

Closing the door behind him, Lucius turned and was met with an interesting sight. Draco was on his back in bed, stripped completely naked, panting and twisting in the sheets. He recognized the wild, clouded look in his eyes. He needed blood.

In the months since they had found Hermione, Draco had no need to feed. The urge had been absent so long that they had begun to speculate that perhaps mating had reduced or eliminated it. Not so, apparently. Lucius rolled up his sleeve and went to his son's side.

Draco stilled as he approached, staring at him upside-down. Lucius could see the wicked points of his fangs between his parted lips. They only came out in times like this; otherwise, it was as if Draco had not been bitten at all.

"Why didn't you call for me?" Lucius asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I don't want _you_," Draco very nearly growled. "I want Hermione."

"You know we haven't discussed this with her. She may not be comfortable with it."

"_Hermione_," he said, "NOW."

Lucius bit down on his pride and fixed his sleeve. The thirst made Draco feral, aggressive, and unreasonable. It wasn't his rejection that bothered Lucius; it was the possibility that Hermione would be too afraid to let Draco take the blood he wanted. Draco would not be happy with that. And Lucius wasn't happy with anything that could endanger their arrangement with Hermione.

"And what if she does not want to let you feed?"

"She will." Draco had rolled over onto his side, his back to his father.

"I hope you're right." He gave a reproachful look to his son's back. "I'll return with her."

* * *

Draco lay there fidgeting. It seemed like it was taking a very long time for his father to retrieve Hermione, but he knew he was just impatient. Being thirsty like this frayed his temper and obliterated his patience. But in a way, he had been waiting for this. He knew the strange vampire/veela hybrid inside him would want to taste Hermione and the day was finally here.

That thought put some order to his mind. He had lied to Lucius; it wasn't that he didn't want him, just that he wanted Hermione first. In fact, he had some plans for his father today. He recalled an interesting conversation they had a week before:

"_Father, is there anything you haven't done?"_

_Lucius blinked and turned to him. "In what sense?"_

"_Sexually."_

_The older man thought, his brow creasing. He actually looked a bit sheepish a moment later when he responded, "Well, given enough time I'm sure I'd think of something."_

"_And to think, you seemed so normal," Draco snorted._

"_It was the sixties and seventies, Draco. There was this thing called 'the sexual revolution.' You would have done exactly the same if you were alive at the time. Besides, Slytherin house has always had its fair share of perversions…"_

"_I must have missed out on those."_

_Lucius looked at him incredulously. "What? You and Zabini never did any kind of experimentation? I thought for sure you had, you spent so much time with the boy."_

"_Are you encouraging it?!"_

_He shrugged. "It's boarding school."_

"_What's that supposed to mean?"_

"_It means that you're in a dorm full of hormonal teenagers with varying degrees of supervision and things happen."_

"_Right, well, things only happened to me with girls."_

"_I'm sure it's because Zabini was the only one in your class that could hold a candle to you, and he wasn't interested, for whatever reason."_

_Draco could only stare at him. Lucius was perfectly at ease discussing these things. The topic of sexuality had never come up over the course of Draco's youth, but he had always assumed that his father was vehemently against same sex relations. Most purebloods were, as these kinds of relationships couldn't produce children._

"_Are you bisexual?" he asked his father, quite bluntly._

"_If you're asking me if I've been with men, the answer is yes. Not in the last twenty-odd years, though, as I was married to your mother." Lucius turned over and rested his chin in his palm. "Sexuality isn't a fixed and rigid thing, Draco. I don't place many limits on mine. Marriage was one of those limits."_

"_Was," Draco said, slightly dazed._

"_And will be again, when we are bound to Hermione. I don't want you to think that I'm some insatiable beast that is out cavorting with anything that moves." A small smile moved across his face. "There is your answer for what I haven't done. I keep my interests strictly focused on humans."_

"_I think this conversation needs to end before it sends me to St. Mungo's!" Draco protested._

_Lucius laughed. "You started it."_

"_Which I regret immensely," he grumbled. He extracted himself from the bed, leaving his smug sire behind, and started his morning routine with a strange confusion lodged in his gut._

He wasn't confused anymore. No, his path had become crystal clear when the thirst had hit him this morning. Amazing how insanity sometimes brought clarity.

At that moment, the door opened. It was Hermione. She seemed a bit tentative, but otherwise had a look of determination that he recognized from their school days. It was the slight raise of her chin, the spark in her eyes; it had annoyed him then, but now he found it completely irresistible. He loved that she had fire.

"Don't be afraid," he said.

"I'm not."

Draco beckoned with a gesture, knowing that his entire being was saturated in lust. It couldn't be helped. Besides, there was no need to conceal his want as far as his mate was concerned.

Hermione moved toward the bed. Truthfully, she was a little bit scared. She knew that Draco wouldn't hurt her, and that allowing him to take her blood wouldn't change her, but it was daunting nonetheless. She wondered if it hurt. Being bitten like that had to, didn't it?

Draco's arms wrapped around her and he pulled her into the plush bed. He was different like this, sensual and a little bit predatory. He was kissing and sucking and touching every available inch of her skin greedily. It took her mind off the task at hand quite easily. Perhaps that was why he was doing it…

With that thought, she tensed up. She was just waiting for his teeth to sink in and the pain and the blood.

"Hermione," he purred. "Hermione, I'm not going to hurt you. You have to relax."

"I'm trying," she whispered back and made a concerted effort to loosen her muscles. "I…I guess I lied. I am a little afraid."

Draco climbed over her, looking down from his position on his hands and knees. "I know you've researched."

Guiltily, Hermione nodded.

"Then you know that when you're willing…when you let me seduce you…it will feel good."

"That's what the books say," she agreed mildly.

"And don't you like books best of all? Well, second to us, anyhow."

She nodded again. "I just…it seems like one of those great myths, like high heels somehow being comfortable. It's…biting, lacerating skin, bleeding…it _must_ hurt. Didn't it hurt you?"

"It hurt me very badly, but Hermione…I wasn't _willing_."

Yes. Draco had decidedly _not_ invited that vampire's advances. She hadn't seen him in the immediate aftermath, but Lucius had, and he would only shake his head when she asked him to talk about it. It must have been truly awful. Feeling a sudden lump in her throat, Hermione threw her arms around his shoulders and crushed him into an embrace.

He mistook it for fear.

"Hermione, you don't have to do this if you're too afraid. I would never force you. I can just call for my father. Really, it's all right. I want you to enjoy it."

"I'm not afraid," she said through a well of tears. "I'm just so happy that you're here."

He looked down at her, perplexed. "Where else would I be?"

Hermione took hold of his face and tugged him down for a fierce kiss. It pulled one of his arms right out from under him and he collapsed on top of her. They kissed like that for a long minute, chest to chest, and Hermione reveled in the pleasant weight his body exerted upon hers.

He lifted his lips slowly, eyes focusing intensely on her face. They were magnificent to look at, sometimes cut through with a current of blue, sometimes not. There was no blue in evidence today; his gaze was pure steel.

She reached between their bodies to start undoing the buttons on her blouse. Draco's lips pulled into a lazy grin. A moment later, she paused.

"What?" he asked.

Hermione matched his grin. "I always wanted a man to rip my shirt off like in a bad romance novel."

Draco sat up, straddling her and taking hold of each side of her shirt. "I promise you it will be neither bad…nor romantic." Then he pulled, sending little buttons scattering in every direction. Hermione felt a hot flush of arousal. She would never admit to her desire to be manhandled but it was getting to the point where she didn't have to speak her desires to her men. They just knew.

Draco popped the front closure of her bra and didn't waste any time leaning down to suck one of her nipples into his mouth. It was a debate as to which of her mates liked her breasts more. She thought Draco won by a slight margin; Lucius seemed to be a bit more enamored of her rear end. To some degree that worried her. Eventually, she knew he would want to partake in anal sex and she wasn't anxious to experience him as her first partner. His girth would be problematic.

Or maybe it wouldn't. She didn't know, but had no doubt that she'd find out. This wasn't the time to think of such things, anyhow; Draco's tongue was lapping roughly at her nipple, sending little tingles of pleasure coursing through her. He applied his teeth to the rosy peak and she purred.

With a grin, he moved to lavish the same attention on her other nipple. He sucked that one hard, circling his tongue around the areola every now and then. While he did his hand drifted down to her trousers. Without bothering to undo them, he slipped his hand in. He knew it drove her crazy when he teased her by rubbing against her skimpy knickers. Truth be told, it drove him crazy too, because he could feel them as they became sodden with her arousal.

The texture of fingers and fabric was a potent one, even when it was not directly against her clit. Hermione whimpered as he pressed his hand against her heat, cupping her sex. He continued to suck and tongue at her nipples until they were achingly hard, pinched in tight little peaks against his lips.

Then he rose up and slotted his lips over hers. She parted her lips and thrust her tongue out to meet his. He met her gamely, and as he did she could feel his fingers pushing her knickers aside and testing her wetness. She moaned into his mouth. Automatically, his hips flexed forward, pressing into the combined cradle of her hips and his own hand.

She loved to kiss him like this. It was so unfettered, so completely sexual to twine her tongue around his. She grazed one of his fangs and he was careful to pull back slightly. They were sharp, she supposed. Oddly, it didn't bother her. She went right on kissing him.

He sighed into her mouth and the muscles in her thighs tightened as he slowly withdrew his hand from her trousers, rubbing maddeningly against her clit as he did so. Draco rose up for a moment. With a slow deliberateness, he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked her gleaming essence from them.

"Fuck," he sighed, his expression one of rapture. "You taste so good." He placed those same fingers against her lips and Hermione flicked out her tongue before drawing both digits into her mouth. She could taste the faint muskiness that still lingered on them. Draco gave a quiet groan. With some satisfaction, she noticed how his cock jumped at the suction of her lips. She loved how responsive he was.

"I want to taste you," she purred.

"Mm. Not just yet," he answered. He tugged his hand gently away, his fingers pulling free of her lips with a wet little pop. "Ladies first."

She felt another warm surge of arousal at the anticipation of his mouth upon her. It never got old. He apparently didn't think so, either. Draco peppered soft kisses between her breasts and down her stomach as his hands worked at undoing her trousers. In a quick moment he tugged them away, discarding them in a pile with her shoes. He did sometimes like when she left her heels on but this didn't seem to be one of those times.

"Where do you find such indecent little knickers?" he asked with an evil little smirk. She was wearing a dark purple lace thong. It never ceased to amuse her how scandalous both Malfoys found thong underwear. They had no idea it was commonplace in the Muggle world. To them, most of her ensembles were downright lewd – not that they complained.

"That's my secret," she taunted.

"There are no secrets allowed," he growled playfully. "I'll find a way to get my answer."

"I'm sure you will," Hermione giggled.

Draco eased her knickers down without further preamble. It appeared that he lost his train of thought as the smell of her arousal hit him. The thong was left hanging around her ankle as he groaned and buried his face between her thighs.

Hermione moaned at his direct attack. His tongue caroused in a long lick from perineum to clitoris, where he teased in gentle little pushes. He didn't seem too intent on teasing her like he sometimes did. He circled her clit and then fluttered his tongue over it. Oh, Merlin, she loved when he did that!

He paused for a second to properly settle himself on the bed. His hands draped over her thighs, pulling them further apart to give him better access. She had long since gotten over her shyness at being splayed open so wantonly. In fact, she had discovered that it made everything, but this especially, feel so much better.

He leaned into her, applying his roving tongue with more pressure now. Merlin, it was so good. He alternated long swipes of his tongue with quick little pushes, teasing her clit from every angle.

Hermione tangled her hands in his hair. Tensing her stomach muscles, she lifted her neck to watch him. The sight of his lips and tongue working her pussy always made her so hot. This time was no exception.

He was concentrating as he did it, his eyes closed. His pink tongue wriggled and darted. Watching the motion and connecting it with the sensation made it that much more powerful. Hermione moaned and knew that his chin would be soaked with her arousal soon if it wasn't already.

His teeth grazed her clit and a heady pleasure shot through her. "Oh, yes, Draco!" she gasped. She hoped he hadn't planned to bite her there, but in the fog of her pleasure she wasn't really worried.

He purred into the sweet moisture of her sex. Hermione's neck arched back as she felt him sliding a long finger inside her. Another quickly joined it and he began a slow pump as he sucked lightly against her clit.

She was not going to last if he kept doing that. He was rubbing purposefully against the front wall of her insides, jarring that extra bundle of nerves that seemed almost to be the other side of her clitoris. It was quickly becoming too much.

Her chest heaved, her breasts rising and falling in little gasps. Draco moaned appreciatively, no doubt noticing the movement of her painfully hard nipples. Hermione pulled at his hair.

"Yes, Draco, please!" she pleaded, feeling her orgasm begin to build.

He moved his fingers a little faster. Then his tongue resumed that mind-addling flicker he had done earlier. Her clit was so swollen and sensitive that the quick, vibrating pressure made her tighten around his fingers.

Draco took that as his cue and began to pleasure her with a surprising tenacity. Hermione was caught off guard by it, and before she knew what was happening, orgasm was rocking her body. She clenched tightly with a high-pitched shout, pleasure welling up in brain-melting ripples.

She barely registered when he withdrew his fingers from her mid-orgasm and replaced his tongue with them, pressing and rubbing and spurring her even higher. Groaning with need and feeling his cock swell, he moved a few inches to the right, licked the soft flesh of her inner thigh, and sank his fangs in.

She keened as he did, her hips bucking. The taste of her sex-charged blood brought tears to his eyes. It was so sweet, so strong. God, he felt his balls tightening painfully. He could have come from that alone. Fortunately, his willpower was strong enough to resist.

It was harder to resist drinking his fill. Her taste was so addictive. He could have drained her, drunk of her until she was white and shriveled, but he would never do that to Hermione. He loved her too much.

After a long minute he forced himself to rise. He knew his face was smeared with a mixture of her slick juices and her blood. His balls were positively throbbing. That had been an excellent, excellent idea.

Hermione lay panting, soft little mewls still issuing from her. A fine sheen of sweat was upon her brow and her hair was wild about her head. Smiling, Draco lay down beside her and curled his body into hers. He would give her a few minutes to recover, and then he'd fill her in on his wicked plans.

* * *

Lucius's ear perked when he heard the familiar sound of Hermione shouting her way through orgasm. She was certainly a screamer and he loved it. His lips quirked; what neither of them knew was that he could be a screamer, too, if the right things were done to him.

Then his grin faded. He doubted those things would be happening to him anytime soon. He had taken Hermione's flash of fear when the subject of more interesting sexual practices was brought up (as well as Draco's discomfiture with their recent discussion of his liberal sexual attitude) very seriously. He wasn't going to push either of them into something they didn't desire. The thought of a lifetime of regular sex was much easier to bear than the thought of frightening one or both of them away.

Besides, they were young. They could do very well together without him. He hated how much he feared that. Lucius was a confident man, but he wasn't getting any younger. Especially not today.

He sighed. He had never liked his birthday and today was no exception. Grumpily, he rose from his seat, intent on seeking refuge in his study. He had settled across the hall from Draco's room just in case Hermione was too frightened to let Draco drink from her and they needed his assistance. It was obvious that they didn't.

He pulled open the door and was surprised to find Draco standing right there. He was still naked and Lucius had to blink and bite back a rebuke for walking around the house so carelessly. Really, there was no one here who would be bothered by it. They might be bothered by the blood on his face, though.

"I take it you were successful?" he said, stepping around Draco.

"You could say that."

"Good." He made to walk away, but Draco's hand around his arm stopped him.

"Don't you want to taste her?"

Lucius paused, considering the question. Though he had been bitten by Draco, no urge to partake of blood had ever hit him. The thought didn't appeal to him as strongly as other things. However, Hermione was his mate. If there was any blood he should taste, it was hers.

"Come on," Draco said, pulling at his arm with unexpected strength. Lucius allowed himself to be led into the bedroom.

At the sight of Hermione lying sated amongst the bedclothes, his heart sped up. Merlin, she was beautiful, even with little twin puncture marks on her thigh. She smiled at him. She appeared to be a bit dazed.

Lucius wondered if Draco had bitten her during orgasm. What would that be like? It was disconcertingly pleasurable when he allowed Draco to bite him in the most normal of circumstances. To be bitten during any sex act probably bordered on ecstasy.

Lucky Hermione. He frowned slightly, bothered by the realization that he was very curious to know what that felt like. It just couldn't happen. He and his son shared a mate and that certainly put them in some very intimate situations, but it wasn't appropriate for that intimacy only to be directed at one another.

During those first emerging Veela dreams, he had not just been involved with Hermione. He had made love to (and been loved by) the male also. When he didn't know who it was he was fine with that; as he'd told Draco, he'd been with men and found pleasure and satisfaction that way, as well. When he realized the man in his dreams was his own son everything changed.

It wasn't right. It would never be right. Even if they were truly one another's mates as much as they were Hermione's, he couldn't bring himself to touch or look at or have his son in such a way. It was such a fine line, though, when they shared a lover. Their lips and hands and bodies were bound to cross and he wouldn't be able to stop himself from feeling pleasure at that, too.

Draco's dreams must have been different. They must not have featured sex with his male mate. And why not? He had never been with a male and his mind couldn't generate what he didn't know.

Lucius watched as Draco settled into the bed beside Hermione and rained gentle kisses over her jaw, his hand caressing her abdomen. Normally he would have found the sight quite pleasing. However, his mood had taken a very sharp dive.

"I think I will leave you two for now," he said as he made to turn for the door.

"What's the rush?" Draco murmured, looking up.

"Yes, Lucius, come to bed," Hermione agreed. "I miss you."

"I have things to do," he sighed.

Hermione eyed him perceptively. "Is something wrong?"

"No. You two just seemed to be getting on well enough on your own."

Pouting, Hermione climbed over Draco and took hold of his robe. "Get over here," she said, almost scolding.

Once again, Lucius allowed himself to be pulled along. Hermione tugged him into bed between her and Draco. She curled against his side, her leg draped over his hip, and began to kiss his neck. He relaxed into it. That did feel very good, he had to admit.

He immediately tensed again when he felt another body press against his other side. He should not enjoy the feeling of Draco's erection against his thigh, nor the touch of his hand on his chest. He nearly jumped out of his skin when his lips pressed just beneath his ear.

Lucius squirmed, incredibly uncomfortable.

"What's the matter?" Hermione asked. She had noticed his tension.

"Nothing," he lied. He didn't know if it would be hurtful to Draco if he asked him to stop.

She frowned. "Is it because it's your birthday?"

Damn it, how did she know about that? He had been so careful not to say anything. Draco had probably told her. That wasn't his trouble, though.

"No…it's…I…"

"It's me," Draco spoke up.

Lucius sagged with relief. He understood. But if he understood, why was he still so close?

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, perplexed.

"Our Veela dreams," he clarified. "In them, it was like we had two mates. It wasn't just that we shared you. We were with each other, as well."

"Ah." Her quick eyes fell on Lucius. The aforementioned wizard was staring in surprise at his son. So he _had_ experienced the same dreams…

"It's not right, Draco," he said softly.

"If we both consent, it's fine," Draco shrugged. "And I'm telling you right now that I consent."

"Just because we can doesn't mean we should," Lucius protested.

Draco's eyes narrowed. In one smooth movement, he rose and swung a leg over his father, settling across his midsection. "Listen, you stubborn old man, you are my mate as much as Hermione is and there is no point in denying it."

"Draco, get off me," he responded with a glare of annoyance.

"No. We're going to do dirty things to each other and you're going to like it." He flicked his hand and soft satin bindings suddenly appeared, snaking around Lucius's wrists. "Starting now. You're okay with that, right, Hermione?"

Hermione stared at them. Was she okay with that? Merlin, every time their lips, tongues, hands, or cocks strayed upon one another, her brain nearly overloaded with arousal. She had absolutely no objection to seeing them do it purposely!

"I am just fine with that," she said breathlessly.

* * *

Lucius watched Draco and Hermione in disbelief. This was mutiny. Experimentally, he tugged at the satin ropes. He'd had more experience with this than they'd ever know and was quite good at slipping from inadequate binding. A quick assessment told him that he could free his left hand, but probably not the right.

"I had a very interesting conversation with the portrait in your study," Draco said suddenly, diverting his attention.

"What? With Gertrude?" he asked, his confusion evident. Great Aunt Gertrude was something of a genius with numbers – that was the only reason he'd put her in there. Otherwise, she was frightfully boring.

"Not that study. Your _other _study, the one you use to brood."

"I do not brood!"

Hermione laughed at that. The melodious sound calmed him even though he still wasn't entirely comfortable with any of this.

"No, it was Olivier," Draco clarified.

Oh. Lucius winced. He didn't just go into that study to brood, as they put it. Sometimes he went in there when he needed a release he couldn't get from his ex-wife or his new partners. Even though Olivier was dead, his voice could still trigger memories that made Lucius's toes curl. Not to mention that the portrait had absolutely no qualms about talking dirty…

Olivier had been a good friend of his father's. He was a beautiful, calculating, domineering man. Lucius was sixteen when he was first cornered by him. At that point, he'd been with women and bore a mild curiosity about men. He didn't remember exactly how Olivier had talked him into bed, but he was very glad that he did.

It was Olivier that had discovered his propensity to scream when he was pleasured correctly. It was also Olivier who had taught him, with a very strict hand indeed, to pleasure another. He had to stop thinking about it. He could already feel the telltale rush of blood tightening his groin.

There had never been love or any official goodbye. After his wedding he'd never heard from him again. It was probably better that way, for he was likely the only person who could have tempted Lucius to cheat on Narcissa. Olivier had died a year before his father. Abraxas had taken a portrait of him as a memory and more than once Lucius wondered if Olivier had the exquisite fortune of being lover to two Malfoys – not unlike Hermione.

"And…what did Olivier have to say?" Lucius asked with some trepidation.

Draco's lips curled into a smile. "Many things." He leaned over and reached for his wand. "_Divesto_."

Ah, damn it. Now he was nude. This had to stop. He prepared to slip the bond on his left hand and wrestle the wand from Draco. Just at that moment, though, Draco reached over to tighten it.

"First and foremost," he smirked, "he said to make sure the bonds were tight because you were good at getting out of them."

Lucius felt his cheeks coloring. Had his every kink been laid out for Draco in explicit detail? Wonderful. What must his son think of him?

"Second," Draco continued, "he said that you _really_ like leather. I think I already guessed that one, though. Accio gloves!"

Lucius watched in something akin to horror as his leather gloves flew from the pockets of the robe he'd been deprived of and into Draco's hand. He made a sound of shock as Draco balled one up and unceremoniously shoved it into his mouth. Merlin's balls. No one had done that to him in a very long time. The good news was that Draco did not yet know how to really jam it in there; Lucius was able to move his tongue and his jaw slightly to combat the discomfort. Not that he really objected to that discomfort…

His eyes followed Draco as he slipped the other glove onto his hand. He couldn't help it; his body was reacting. He didn't want it to. It wasn't just because it was Draco, though. He had _never_ wanted his body to react to being dominated, but God, it did. He did. It reduced him to incoherency once he surrendered to it.

Draco's leather-clad hand touched his chin and then slid slowly down his neck, tickling over his Adam's apple to settle between his collarbones. A rash of goosebumps followed the touch. Oh, God. Oh, _God, _that felt good. He had no idea why the texture drove him insane. A moment later Draco moved again, stroking and then pinching his left nipple.

A hard, almost painful throb let him know that his cock was at full attention. The glove in his mouth stifled the moan. Already he was having trouble thinking clearly. That was a bad sign.

"Wow," Hermione said. "Olivier was right about the leather."

"Mm. We'll have to get you a leather corset. Maybe some boots."

Fucking hell, they were going to kill him. Lucius did his best to breathe evenly around the obstruction in his mouth. It was obvious by now that they had planned this after their little conversation with Olivier. If this was their idea of a birthday present…

"Mmmf!" he groaned around the taste of leather when Draco resumed the attack on his nipples. He hoped they realized that when a person had something stuffed in their mouth like this they tended to drool, especially when they couldn't fully voice their pleasure. Salivation was an expression of that, too. He probably had a lot to teach them…

But he evidently did _not_ need to teach Draco how to handle a cock. Merlin almighty. His eyes rolled back as he touched him. His grip was just right. Firm, but loose enough so that the friction of the leather didn't hurt. He couldn't stand it.

He lifted his hips, pressing into that heavenly palm. Olivier would have punished him for the disobedience, for moving without being told to, but Draco wasn't Olivier and hadn't the knowledge to truly dominate him yet. Oh, was he really thinking that? This couldn't…oh, _fuck_, that felt good!

* * *

Hermione watched the transformation that came over Lucius. His fingers were digging into his palms, the bonds pulled taut. A bright sex flush had crawled up his chest. He was breathing heavily, the flexion in his jaw telling her that he was biting against the glove in his mouth. His body was moving in an insatiable plea – a plea for more, more, more.

She had never seen him like this. He was always so controlled. A hot, heavy arousal coiled in her center. This was, in a word, completely erotic.

Draco, too, was enthralled. The same flush was creeping over his cheeks as he fisted his father's cock. He had seen it countless times, but never realized how thick and powerful it was until it was in his hand. He could feel it throbbing even through the barrier of the glove.

That magnificent cock issued a small, opaque bead of pre-ejaculate as his father panted and released muffled moans. Draco wondered what it tasted like. He had sampled his own several times, licking it from Hermione's hand or her lips, and didn't find the taste offensive. He was fairly certain that by now he had cured his father of his hesitation…

Boldly, he let his hand still on his cock and leaned down to lick the salty little pearl from its ruddy head. Lucius's body twitched and he made a sound that probably would have been a curse had he been able to speak clearly. Draco grinned at him, letting the taste settle and permeate his senses. It did taste different from his, but in a way that was enjoyable.

Once upon a time, Draco had been bothered by the implication of his Veela dreams, too. It had taken him a while to get over it. The reality was that he could be stuck with someone much worse than his father. His father was attractive, intelligent, passionate, and vastly more caring than he let on. Draco _already_ loved him. It wasn't so hard to make the transition to a new kind of love.

Determined, he looked toward his other mate, the woman who was watching with heavy-lidded, lust-fogged eyes.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?" she murmured.

"Will you teach me how to…?"

* * *

He had surrendered. Oh, how he surrendered. It was impossible not to when Hermione was giving Draco a crash course on fellatio. There were two tongues on his cock, one sliding up each side, tangling in kisses over the head. Two mouths sucking at the turgid flesh. Hermione first, then Draco, a bit slow, a bit hesitant, but good nonetheless.

He thought he would die when the blond head began to rise and fall over his cock. He couldn't look – it was too much. Hermione supervised Draco for a few moments, giving pointers as he went. For a second Draco came up for air. He licked his lips and then spoke. "Take the glove out of his mouth. I want to hear him."

Oh, they would hear him all right. Carefully, Hermione extracted the wrinkled glove from his mouth. By that point he had begun to drool and she seemed a little surprised by it. He didn't care in the slightest. Lucius pulled in great draughts of air to combat the dizzy buzzing in his head. To some degree the minor oxygen deprivation felt good, but he'd had enough. The timing was impeccable.

Hermione leaned down to kiss him as Draco returned to the task he'd set himself. Lucius kissed her with abandon, purring and groaning into her mouth. His hands flexed and relaxed restlessly at the faint sucking sounds that issued from Draco's work further down. Holy fucking God. It was so wrong but it felt so good.

Hermione had moved on to his neck, kissing, sucking, and nipping. Draco was sucking harder and gaining speed as he got more comfortable; the slide of his lips and the wet warmth of his mouth was absolutely maddening. Hermione breathed hotly into his ear. "Do you like this, Lucius?"

"Yes," he gasped. "Please don't stop!"

"Oh, I don't know…you seemed pretty reluctant earlier."

He heard Draco chuckle. Then he dared to try to take a bit more of the long, thick cock in his mouth. When he found that he could do it, albeit slowly, he groaned softly around his mouthful.

Lucius felt his balls tighten. _That_ was the sound of man who was enjoying what he was doing. Somehow that made all the difference with Draco.

"I guess you've learned your lesson," Hermione smirked. "Next time we want you to come to bed, what will you say?"

"Yes," he moaned.

"And what will you do?"

"C-come to bed!"

"Very good."

Hermione descended his body once more, kissing her way down. Briefly, she tongued and sucked at his cock with Draco. Lucius let loose the sounds he could now make fully, the moans and pleas and curses that would make most anyone blush. His balls were aching. He was going to come soon. He had seen and done a lot of things, but never had he had two people giving him oral sex at the same time. He was definitely regretting that.

After a long minute, Hermione moved on, kissing down his swollen shaft and visiting her exquisite treatment onto his balls. Once she was clear, Draco resumed sucking his cock, shallowly now, with his leather-clad hand rubbing up and down the shaft. That was going to be his undoing; the rub of leather felt even better when it was lubricated.

His balls were drawn up so close to his body that Hermione had a hard time sucking each one into her mouth. She managed it and Lucius released a feral sound. His thighs began to quiver. She touched Draco's shoulder.

"He's going to come."

He understood the implication – that he might want to save swallowing for when he had gained a little more experience. He quite agreed. With one last hard suck and swipe of his tongue against the weeping slit, Draco pulled back. It was a little scary how much he'd enjoyed that.

With a mystified little shake of his head, Draco stroked his father's cock in earnest, the leather and saliva chafing him in what was evidently a feeling so pleasurable that his voice was rising in an uncontrolled series of moans. He was writhing, his head pressed back into the mattress. He was a completely different person from the man that either of them knew.

His hips jerked and the first hot jet of semen burst from his cock. Along with it, a scream ripped from his throat. It made Draco's ears ring. So did the subsequent cries, torn out of him with each spasm of his completion. Merlin, he was coming hard! Draco was a little envious.

He was still gasping frantically when it let up. Draco stared at him in wonder; he'd broken into a sweat from the exertion of the orgasm. He was about to pull away, intent upon stripping the glove from his hand and cleaning it, when his father's thighs swiftly clamped around him.

"Please fuck me. I need you to fuck me!"

Draco's mouth fell open. He had intended to initiate things with his father, but not to go that far! It was one thing to touch and taste him, but to be inside him…? He still wasn't entirely reconciled with the idea.

"Please, Draco. Please!"

Merlin, who was this man? Olivier had warned that once Lucius submitted, his proud veneer was gone. He wanted to be conquered. He would beg for it. Draco had had a hard time believing that. Evidently it was true.

"I…I don't know if I'm ready for that," he said softly.

Lucius hissed and closed his eyes in frustration, but he unlocked his thighs so that Draco could slip free. It had been so bloody long since he'd had this. He was mad with the desire for a good, hard fuck, even if his body was spent. How he had loved the feeling of Olivier plowing into him after he broke him down…

In the end, Hermione saved the day. Thoughtfully, she stroked Lucius's cheek and said, "Do you have a dildo? A vibrator? Anything like that?"

"Yes," he breathed. "In the bottom drawer of the desk in the second study."

"Olivier's study?" she asked with some amusement.

"Don't judge me," was the retort.

Hermione smiled. "I'll be right back."

* * *

She had to shake her head when she went to retrieve it. It was…large. Not ridiculously so, but more than she would want to accommodate. It was also very convincingly shaped, decorated, and texturized. So much so, in fact, that she felt a little bit like she was holding a severed penis. It even had balls!

Most interestingly, its flesh tone was a warm brown. With a raise of her eyebrow she looked up at Olivier's portrait. He was smirking knowingly. With a small chuckle, she noted that his skin was a beautiful shade of chocolate.

She glanced at the dildo again. Then, shaking her head, she turned to floo back upstairs. She didn't see how Lucius could take something of this size, but if he could, she felt heartened at the prospect of anal sex with him.

That was why she had helped him to lubricate it, and then watched very closely as he carefully stretched himself with his fingers. Draco also watched, but with a little more trepidation than her. The transition to desiring a man was still new to him and this was what took the most getting used to.

In fact, Draco looked faintly green as Lucius, with Hermione's help, began to ease the dildo in. It was plain that it hurt but Lucius seemed to relish it. After a minute or two of adjustment, it slid further, breaching the querulous ring of muscle and sinking inside him. As he got used to it he asked Hermione to retie his bindings. Then, once he judged himself ready, he had cast what was more or less a thrusting charm. Hermione was familiar; she'd used it often in her vibrator days.

Ten minutes later found Hermione on her back with Draco thrusting hard between her thighs. Once he saw that his father was not in any great misery, his libido had returned full-force. At the same time, Lucius was alternating between sucking Hermione's nipples and lavishing her with soul-melting kisses. Their quick breath matched; he was on all fours, his hands bound at the wrists, the dildo doing the work that Draco was not yet ready to.

There was no substitute for a full-bodied person slamming against him, but using the dildo while he watched Draco and Hermione was a very satisfying alternative. Their sounds of pleasure mingled with his. The rub of the faux cock against his prostate was beginning to revive his tired body.

It was stupid of him to ask to be retied. He did like the feeling of restraints, but just at this moment he wanted to reach down and tease Hermione's clit. Well, she hadn't tied the bindings very well. With a few practiced wriggles and tugs, he escaped them.

It was worth it. She moaned beautifully as he teased the swollen nub of flesh in time with Draco's thrusts. Oh, he was definitely fit for a second round. There was one thing he knew would return him to full arousal…

"One of you," he panted, "pull my hair."

And to his very great delight, they both reached up to do it.


End file.
